


Guided into the Harbor

by ChirpingEmu



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Character Deaths, F/M, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1819624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChirpingEmu/pseuds/ChirpingEmu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt & Rachel can't walk by when a boy in the slave market, too injured and sick to be profitable, will be killed. Blaine slowly adjusts to a new life in the Hudmel household, but more trouble is brewing in the background for Burt and Kurt. Story originated on ff.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"We're late, Kurt, we can cut through." Rachel urged him to cut through the outskirts of the slave market.

Kurt grimaced and she looked abashed but determined. "I hate it, too, but we've both got dates tonight for once, and I don't want to be late."

"Wait, what's that?" Kurt stopped to listen, tilting his head. "I heard..."

Rachel thought she heard it, too. A tiny but beautiful voice, but broken by coughing and hazy through what sounded like tears. "Kurt," she warned. "If it's somebody here, then..."

Kurt was already leading her. He stopped at one of the vendors but looked confused. There was no sign of anybody singing, but he heard coughing again.

"Excuse me, was that somebody singing there?" Rachel couldn't believe that Kurt was actually talking to a slave dealer.

The dealer eyed him sharply. "Yeah, that's one of mine, but trust me, you don't want him." Rachel was sure that the dealer had calculated the value of Kurt's clothing and accessories down to the fraction of a cent. "I've got better singers. That one I was going to sell for organs but just got the word that there's a surplus. They won't take the sick ones, so I'm just going to put him down when I get a minute. I've got some good singers out here."

Kurt said firmly, "I'm curious about this one."

"Come on in, then."

"What's his name?" Kurt asked and the man shrugged.

The dealer gestured at a boy not much older than they were, perhaps fifteen or sixteen at most. He was lying in a fetal position, chained at the ankle. He was shivering, coughing, and Rachel suspected that the occasional bits of song were from delirium. "He's not even that sick, but it's not worth it to treat him."

"Why not?" Rachel asked, surprising herself.

In response, the dealer pulled away the thin sheet. The boy's body was covered with bruises and welts. But what horrified Rachel the most was when he turned to try to reach for the sheet again. His face, which she realized would have been handsome, was covered with deep, recent gashes.

"Yeah, if he were healthy, I could have sold him cheap or for organs, if he were just sick, he'd be worth treating, but as it is," the dealer shrugged again and pulled his gun from the holster.

"Wait," Kurt said thoughtfully. "Rach, don't you think that Dad might enjoy him? As long as he has a day or two left in him? What do you think?"

Kurt's eyes met hers in a flash that told her as clearly as if he'd shouted it, "Work with me on this."

"It's an idea..." she managed to say. "Excuse us a moment."

"Kurt, what the hell are you thinking? You'd buy a slave? You hate it and the trade and you'd give them money?"

"Rachel...I know...but he's going to die, he's going to be murdered right in front of us. I...I can't let it happen."

"This doesn't change the system, it supports it!"

Kurt didn't even answer her, but his eyes returned to the shivering boy. He seemed more alert now and was sitting up, hugging his knees. "Rachel, I know it's every kind of wrong, but..." Kurt's eyes were pleading for forgiveness. "He doesn't deserve to die like that."

She looked at the boy, too. She knew that leaving him would fuel nightmares for months and sighed. "All right."

Kurt strolled back. "How about five for him?"

"Five?" The dealer looked insulted.

Kurt shrugged. "It's that or nothing. Except the cost of the bullet."

"Twenty."

"Twenty? I could get somebody healthy for that. Somebody who would last Dad more than a few days. Six, max." Kurt started to walk away.

"Eight."

"Let me take a closer look, then." Rachel watched the boy cringe and Kurt stood up after a moment. "Seven."

"Fine."

As they walked to the parking lot, Rachel called Finn to postpone their date. She left her fervent apologies on his voice mail, explaining that she was with Kurt and be there when he got home and they could go out from there. Then she turned back to helping Kurt support Blaine, who was stumbling. Kurt pulled his coat off and helped the boy into it and told him, quietly, "It's going to be okay. I was lying about my dad. Nobody's going to hurt you, I promise. We'll take care of you." He paused. "I'm Kurt and this is my friend Rachel. What's your name?"

"Blaine," he whispered, and started to cough again.

"We're going to take you home and get you more comfortable," Kurt assured him and turned away for a moment as his cell rang.

"Hello?"

"Kurt, where are you?"

"Oh, God, Mercedes, I'm so sorry. Somebody's sick, I had to-" Another spate of coughing from Blaine made the excuse sound much more convincing, he thought wryly. "Can we reschedule? Please?" "Fine, but you owe me, white boy."

"Okay, I've got to go now. I'll call you later."

Kurt hung up and helped Blaine into the back seat, noticing that Blaine had almost immediately closed his eyes. It had been easy enough to appease Mercedes, at least temporarily, he thought, but now he had to explain to his father. He'd think about that later. Now, his thoughts were entirely filled with Blaine. How easily and clearly he could feel Blaine's ribs as he and Rachel helped him to walk to the car and now into the house. How Blaine was still shivering like he'd never get warm as they sat him at the table. How his face didn't look merely disfigured but defiled by the deep cuts, surrounded by dark, crusted blood. How he looked so patient and exhausted and shattered.

"Do you want to have something to eat first or do you want to get cleaned up first?" Blaine looked hesitantly at Rachel and finally asked, "Could I have something to drink? Some water?"

Kurt quickly filled a glass. A box of straws Finn had demanded caught his eye and he put one in, then handed the glass to Blaine. He caught Blaine's hand, seeing how shaky it was, and helped him put it on the table. Blaine started sipping and then desperately gulping the water. "More?"

"Yes, please." At the next gulps, he started to cough again, but this time bending over helplessly, fighting for breath in rasps that sounded like whistles. Kurt and Rachel leaned over him, exchanging helpless glances as they tried to soothe him.

"Here, I'll make you some hot lemon and honey," Rachel said. "That always helps when I've got a cough." Kurt stayed bent over him, very lightly rubbing his upper back. Blaine finally sat up again and his eyes searched Kurt's. Kurt wondered what he would have looked like before he was battered and sick, and his imagination filled in vibrant coloring and brilliant eyes. Rachel handed him the mug and he helped Blaine wrap his hands around it and bring it to his mouth. Kurt was desperately anxious to make the sick boy more comfortable. He was afraid that even with the proper care, Blaine might die. But he was going to fight for Blaine's life, he and Rachel, and if Blaine died, at least it would be with some dignity, clean, warm, and fed, in caring arms, he silently vowed.

Rachel started opening the refrigerator and taking out ingredients. "I'll make dinner, Kurt, if you help Blaine shower or take a bath or whatever he wants." She turned and looked Blaine over quickly. "I think your clothing would fit him better than Finn's."

Kurt supported Blaine down the stairs into the basement and asked, "Bath or shower?" Blaine looked at him questioningly and Kurt wondered what was happening in his mind. Was he afraid of expressing a preference? Or had he never been asked anything like that? Or, and this felt like another kick to the gut, had whatever he'd endured affected Blaine's mind? "Either is fine," he added, gently. "If you're tired, I get get a shower seat for you." Blaine nodded and Kurt opened the linen closet and set the seat up.

He realized that Blaine was too exhausted to clean himself so he would have to help. He reached for his robe and started to take off his own clothing, then heard Blaine's gasp. Kurt turned back to him and saw paralyzing horror in Blaine's posture and eyes.

Kurt instinctively crouched next to Blaine to make himself lower and smaller. "Blaine," he soothed. "It's okay, you're safe. I'm not going to touch you or lay a finger on you except to take care of you. Whatever happened to you, it's over. I promise, okay? You're sick and exhausted and hurting, but I promise you we're going to help you. Rachel, my family, my brother, my dad, we all hate slavery." He was going to keep his mouth shut about exactly how much. "I nearly didn't buy you because it was giving money to a dealer. But I couldn't let you die there. Not like that." Blaine was still staring at him, but his eyes weren't terrified any more, or worse, resigned. Kurt couldn't read them, so he kept talking, not even sure if Blaine was taking in the words, but hoping that if he wasn't, his tone was reassuring him. "We're going to take care of you, help you get better. I swear, nobody here will hurt you."

He straightened out a little. "I can help you clean up, or do you want me to leave you to it? I want to stay in the bathroom to make sure you don't fall, but I'll stay down here where you can see me. Or I can help you wash, you might want some help with your back."

Blaine nodded. "All right, I'll help you with that," Kurt answered.

He adjusted the water to a soft, warm spray, not much harder than a light rain, and Blaine soaped himself with some difficulty. Kurt carefully rubbed around the welts on his back, trying to wipe away dried blood but not break any of the scabbing. A few of the cuts were red and swollen, as were others on his arms, chest, and face. They were infected, but at least it didn't look like they were turning into sepsis. Kurt was thankful to feel Blaine relaxing slightly at his gentle touch and quiet, soothing monologue as he kept talking, "I don't understand, how could anybody hurt you like this. There, does that feel better? Just a little more, I'm going to get your sides here, tell me if I do anything that hurts. Rachel's making dinner, she only cooks vegan but she does a good job, just don't tell her that I told you so, okay? There, that's done. Okay, I don't want to open any of these cuts, so let's just wrap you in a couple of towels, careful standing up, you might get dizzy, there, that's good, here, you can sit down here, I'll just pat you dry here, through the towel, okay?"

Blaine's skin was still discolored from bruises, but at least it looked healthier now, with the dried blood and grime gone. "Okay, let's get you into the bedroom. You can lie down while I get some ointment and bandages on anything that's still open." Kurt felt another surge of relief that Blaine hesitated only a moment before allowing Kurt to help him to lie on his stomach. The hot water must have helped with his breathing; while he'd coughed frequently, he wasn't fighting in agony for breath.

Because Blaine had been sitting, Kurt hadn't seen how viciously injured his buttocks were. He was fairly sure that it wasn't just cuts but burns, and some of them looked as though they curved around to his groin. Kurt steeled himself, finished bandaging him, and then, not wanting to see the full extent of Blaine's injuries, rolled him over. Yes, those were definitely burns, and he couldn't help but keep looking up to the cuts on the boy's face.

"Blaine, I don't want to pry, and you don't have to tell me, but what happened? Who did this to you?"

Blaine was absolutely silent and after a moment, Kurt assumed that he wasn't going to answer, but then Blaine said, quietly, "I tried to escape."

Kurt waited for Blaine to say more, but he didn't continue and Kurt wasn't going to make him feel that he had to do anything. A thought kept pulsating in his mind as insistently as a second heartbeat. "This could have been you, this could have been you, this could have been you." A boy his own age, obviously sexually abused, tortured for trying to escape, and then waiting in the slave market to be killed, for organs or because he wasn't profitable...Kurt felt the tears well in his eyes as he carefully spread an antiseptic ointment over a gash crossing Blaine's cheek.

He blinked the tears away and saw Blaine staring at him again, but this time with an expression of wonder. "You're crying?" Blaine whispered. "You're crying for me?"

Kurt couldn't find any words, so nodded. The moment broke at the sound of steps coming down the stairs, which made Blaine flinch instinctively. The door opened and Rachel came in with a bowl and glass. "I thought you might want to eat in bed, rather than at the table," she smiled at Blaine.

"Thank you," he answered, looking down.

"It's lentil soup, I hope you'll like it. I brought you milk but there's more water if you want it."

Blaine took the bowl so awkwardly that Kurt held it for him. He was equally awkward with the spoon, wincing as he tried to hold it, and Kurt looked suspiciously at the bruises on his hands, deciding they were probably broken. "Can I help you with that?" Blaine clumsily handed him the spoon and Kurt carefully fed him. After the first few spoonfuls, he had to coax the next few into Blaine, and then could tell that he truly couldn't eat any more. "Do you want us to let you rest now?" Blaine looked hesitantly at them both, as if he were trying to guess what response would be safe, and then said, almost under his breath, "I'm very tired."

"Of course," Rachel said, soothingly. "Do you want the light on or off?"

"Off, please."

Kurt took the bowl. "Call if you wake up and want anything. Sleep well, Blaine." He was going to resist brushing his hand through Blaine's hair or even kissing one of the small unmarked places on his cheek. He couldn't do that, not now or ever. The thought was as sad as it was unexpected, he realized, as he followed Rachel up the stairs.

Blaine still didn't feel warm. Kurt had put a thick, soft blanket over him, and the soup had been hot, but he was still shivering and his fingers and toes, especially, were still frigid. He raised his hands to breathe on them, but even that helped only for a moment.

Who were they? Why were they being kind to him? Or was this some kind of game? He didn't think it was his owner, since he had never been subtle or devious in his punishments, but his dad's enemies might do this, even if his dad was long dead. Or if it wasn't a game, what did they want? He raised a hand to his face and felt a sudden shock at touching soft cloth bandages rather than the ridged cuts.

He was so tired that he couldn't think clearly, but his mind was so restless and his chest felt like it had been stuffed with wet towels. He gripped the soft blanket tightly, letting go only when his fingers hurt intolerably. He wanted to feel warm, he wanted the pain to stop. Maybe they hadn't wanted to help him by taking him away from the market. It would have been a quick bullet in his head and everything would have been over. At best, he'd have been with his family again. At worst, he wouldn't have been in any more pain.

But then...Kurt's eyes shone with tears for him. His hands had been so gentle and his voice was so comforting. Rachel's eyes had been so soft and her mouth had been so tender when she looked at him. Maybe there was enough kindness in the world to make living better than dying.

Just as that thought nearly soothed him into sleep, he heard loud voices from above. Shouting, even the sound of a chair being scraped angrily along the floor. He pressed himself more deeply into the mattress, though he knew it would be no refuge.


	2. Chapter 2

"I cannot believe you did this, Kurt!" Burt knew he was repeating himself but there was no other way to express his outrage. Kurt had **betrayed** what they believed in. Kurt had put money, **his** money, into a slave dealer's pocket.

"Dad, he was going to be murdered right there!"

"And because **you** bought him, that's money that will go to more captures, to drawing more people into the business, to supporting the whole filthy thing!" Burt slammed his hands on the table. "How could you do that, Kurt?"

Rachel tried to speak up yet again, this time getting into a pause long enough to nearly finish. "Mr. Hummel, while it was supporting the trade, it was such a small amou-" That enraged him even more. The amount was irrelevant.

"I don't care how large or small it was. Are either of you ever going to be credible on the topic, will **I** ever be credible again if, no, when it gets out that you bought a slave? You don't even know if he's freeable or not!" He threw up his hands in disgust. That his own son, that Kurt would do this...

He felt a wave of rage that urged violence, but reminded himself that the only ones there were Kurt and Rachel. He couldn't stay in the same room with them, couldn't even look at their faces as long as he was this outraged. He shoved past Kurt to lock himself in the den.

Finn had been putting up the new shelves in the garage and came in, looking concerned. "I heard Burt shouting, what's wrong?" Kurt was beet-red and Rachel was on the brink of tears.

"Apparently it's wrong to try to save somebody's life," Kurt announced, his voice haughtier than usual.

"Huh?"

"Finn, we took a shortcut through the slave market, and there was this boy, our age, and the dealer was going to kill him because he was sick and hurt, and-" Rachel broke off sobbing and buried her head in his chest.

"I bought him to keep the dealer from shooting him on the spot. Finn, he was so scared and sick and he'd been abused so much, I couldn't just let somebody blow out his brains onto the ground, I couldn't!"

"So what happened?"

"I bought him," Kurt confessed. "It was just five..."

Finn let out a deep breath. "Rach?"

"I concurred with Kurt's decision. It's a matter of principle and ordinarily I stand firm, but..."

Finn frowned. "Is he cute or something?" He instinctively knew that that would make it so much worse for Burt, if that had been a consideration.

"No, Finn," Kurt answered, still very precisely and peevishly. "His last owner used his face for a cutting board, it would appear and he was obviously starved. Quite literally. He is not 'cute'."

Finn held his hands up appeasingly. "I just had to ask."

Kurt suddenly sounded disconsolate. "Now Dad won't even want to talk to me. I know that on principle, it was wrong, but, Finn, he was lying on the ground shivering and he's just our age. I'd have wanted somebody to save me."

Finn swallowed hard. His problem was that he could see both sides, but then, there was a side that made Rachel cry and there was a side that didn't. He knew which side he was going to be on.

"Maybe I can talk to Burt later," Finn offered, wishing that this wasn't part of being a good boyfriend. He looked around. "Uh, where is he? The guy, I mean?"

Rachel sighed. "He says his name is Blaine. He's downstairs. But he's resting." She stared down, and Finn could see she was fighting more tears. "I hope."

* * *

Burt stared angrily at nothing as he sat down and tried to think about what he could do about the situation.

Kurt had bought a slave.

Burt was angry and disappointed and now that he was alone and could admit it to himself, more than a little scared. If Kurt had started to go down a dark path with this, or even if it inadvertently led Kurt down a dark path, Burt didn't think that he could live with it.

Kurt had bought a slave. Rachel, whom he had trusted and come to care about like a daughter, hadn't stopped him. Instead, she'd helped him.

Kurt had bought a slave.

He tried to distract himself by looking at the newspaper, which he still insisted on getting in real paper form. But he put down his beloved sports section, which might as well have been written in backwards Chinese as far as he was following it, and got up. He might as well know the worst, take a look at...the slave that his son had bought.

He heard Kurt and Finn and Rachel talking in the kitchen and walked around the other way to the basement stairs. Each step filled him with more dread and anger.

It wasn't even about him, but he knew that he had potential in leading the anti-slavery movement. He was as ordinary an American as you can get, a small business owner who was doing well. He'd have been a credible voice so that it wouldn't have been just the "elites" or whatever else the hell they called slavery opponents. And Kurt had punctured that with one rash decision. At least Burt hoped to God it was rash.

He opened Kurt's bedroom door and heard a stricken gasp. He flicked on the overhead light and stared at the boy sitting bolt upright in Kurt's bed, staring at him in pure terror. The boy's face was a mass of deep cuts and bandages, and the hand that clutched the blanket to his chest was alarmingly thin.

He stepped closer. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." The kid still shrank away, tracking every movement he made with panic-stricken eyes. "Seriously," he said, almost nauseated by the boy's dread. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe. I'm Kurt's father."

So many emotions rushed through him when at the last sentence, the kid's horrified expression eased slightly, though he was still obviously nightmarishly afraid. He had to admit that amid the anger and disappointment and his own fear, as well as indignation and an almost-painful compassion, there was a tiny, tiny element of pride that somehow, however it was, Kurt had earned enough trust from this frightened, tortured boy that simply saying he was Kurt's father was enough to allay his fear.

Burt came a few steps closer but still keeping a distance. He noticed that the boy occasionally shivered and fervently hoped that it was just from his illness. "Do you want another blanket?" He had to keep his voice calm as he asked and keep from showing his anger when he realized that Blaine was trying to guess what the right answer would be. Rather than make the boy guess, he said, still calmly, "There's a spare in the linen closet, I'll get it for you."

He returned with it and unfolded it over Blaine as another coughing spell caught him. Burt had to restrain himself from pulling Blaine into a comforting hug, as he had so often when Kurt was younger and sick. The kid seemed less nervous of him so he stayed near the bed as he spoke. "We'll get you to a doctor tomorrow. If there's anything you want or need, I want you to ask for it. Under my roof, Blaine, you are a free man and our guest."

Blaine looked away. "I'm...I'm not freeable."

Burt repeated, "Under my roof, you are a free man." Blaine returned his gaze to Burt and looked at him, first in utter disbelief, and then in what looked like comprehension and relief. Burt swallowed hard and left, telling himself that it was so he wouldn't make Blaine uncomfortable by staying, but pausing on the way upstairs to wipe his eyes.

He returned to the kitchen but raised a hand to forestall any of the teens from talking. "I just talked to him. Kurt, Rachel...I can't approve of what you've done, but I have to admit...I'm not positive that I could have walked away, either." Kurt smiled shakily in relief. "The situation is what it is now and there's not anything we can do about it."

Rachel stepped forward. "Actually, Mr. Hummel, we came up with an idea that would at least lessen the apparent hypocrisy. We can say that we are documenting the life of an enslaved person who would have been murdered for being sick and disfigured. I'm a very accomplished writer and can make this into a very moving and convincing documentary."

Burt considered it briefly. "Good idea." Rachel beamed and started rattling on about storyboards as he went over to Kurt. "Okay, son?" he asked quietly. Kurt looked up at him and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry if I messed anything up," he murmured. Burt shook his head, gripping his son's shoulders. "Like I said, I'm not sure that I wouldn't have done the exact same thing, so I can't really blame you."

Burt reached for the phone and then pulled his hand back. For the sixth time in less than ten minutes. Blaine obviously needed medical attention. But was Bill Meyer the right one? Maybe he should just take him to their regular doctor. But then Bill would be sure not to hurt the kid...oh, forget it, he was over-thinking the whole thing.

"Bill?"

"How're you doing, you old troublemaker?"

"Hanging in there, how about you?"

"Can't complain, nobody'd listen."

"I've got a bit of a situation. Kurt lost his mind and bought an actual slave. Wait, it's not that bad, he saw a dealer about to kill a kid who wasn't worth keeping alive."

"Damn," he heard Bill breathe, shakily.

"The kid's really sick, he got carved up, too. Can I bring him in tomorrow?"

"I don't have any openings tomorrow, I'm covering for one of my partners, but if you call the office, they'll book you with somebody for tomorrow."

Burt had to be incredibly careful about how he worded this. "I want you to do it, you're the one who's taken care of my family all this time." He hoped that Bill picked up the message but that nobody else would. Maybe they were paranoid that their phones might be bugged...but maybe they weren't.

"Okay, if it's that important. Come in tomorrow around 6:30."

"Thanks, Bill, I knew I could count on you."

He hung up and called to Kurt. "Bill Meyer will see Blaine tomorrow. I got a 6:30 before things get really busy." Kurt's eyes and mouth rounded in surprise. "I thought Bill would be the best one to take care of him."

* * *

Burt got into the habit of getting up early when he was in the Army and never quite lost it. So when he woke up at 4:00 and was still awake at 4:30, he figured he might as well get up. Carole and her sister were still away on their spa weekend, so it wasn't as though he had any incentive to stay in bed.

He caught himself grinning like some lovestruck teen when he thought about Carole. Part of him said that it was pretty odd for a man of his age acting like an adolescent but all the rest of him said that when a man's that lucky, why shouldn't he grin like an idiot? Especially since he had the rest of his family. Kurt and he had finally managed to roll out most of the bumps in their relationship and Finn was a great kid.

His sense of satisfaction didn't exactly fade but it moved into the background as he remembered Kurt and Rachel's latest stunt. He meant it when he said that he's not sure that he could have walked by and let that poor kid's brains get blown out, but, dammit, that was why he never went near the market. So as not to get into those situations.

Well, at least coffee would make the situation better, and the advantage of being the first up meant that Kurt didn't have a chance to make him put mostly decaf in the coffee pot. He'd put in just enough decaf to say that of course he made it with decaf. As he told Kurt and the doctor, for all they knew, the next medical study would say that regular coffee was better for your heart than decaf, anyway.

Of course he groused about Kurt fussing over what he ate and drank, but part of him kind of liked watching Kurt do it. His little boy was turning into a grown man, and he'd seen that more than a few times. Though he had to admit that in the Army, none of the guys ever came back from a mission saying that they desperately needed a cucumber facial to recover.

He grinned at the sight of Kurt sleeping on the couch. Kurt still had crazy bed head, even if he hated being reminded of how his hair always stood straight up, and really shot him the death glare when Burt showed Kurt's friends pictures of him like that. He was just exercising his right to embarrass the heck of his son, even if he'd long since given up the mental image of showing those pictures to Kurt's girlfriends. He wasn't even sure what a boyfriend would do, would he be all "awwwwww" and tell Kurt that he was just adorable the way a girl would? Or would it just be awkward?

Kurt's little travel alarm went off and Burt glanced at the clock. It was already 5:30. Kurt's hand flopped around like a fish on the dock until it hit the alarm clock, pretty much at random as far as Burt could tell.

"Morning, son."

"Dad? What are you doing up so early?"

"I just woke up, decided to come down."

Kurt sniffed suspiciously. "Dad, did you make that with decaf?"

"Course, Kurt, I know what the cardiologist said. And what are you doing up so early?"

"I still have my morning routines, you know," Kurt sniffed.

"I'd better go shower then." If you were in a hurry to get anywhere, you never, ever let Kurt get into the shower before you did. When he had the extra full bathroom installed downstairs, the cost justification wasn't about resale value, it was about not needing a shrink from sharing a bathroom with Kurt any more. He paused on his way back upstairs. "Hear anything from Blaine during the night?"

Kurt shook his head. "Sometimes I heard him coughing, but that was it."

"Couldn't hurt to check on him." Kurt nodded, put his slippers on, and padded down the stairs.

* * *

There was just barely enough light from the alley coming around the blinds that Kurt could generally make out the room. When he saw that the bed was empty, he first rubbed his eyes to make sure that he hadn't just been mistaken by the crumpled blanket. Next, he knocked, lightly, on the closed bathroom door. No response.

He threw his head back and closed his eyes in misery. Had Blaine run away? Had he been that frightened and suspicious that the near-certainty of dying from untreated illnesses and injuries somehow seemed better than staying? 

Kurt had always been an easy crier and a combination of frustration, anger, and misery at the thought of Blaine hiding, in pain, terrified, and all so unnecessarily now made it impossible even to fight the tears prickling at his eyes. He turned to go back upstairs to tell Burt what had happened when he had the sensation of being watched.

He turned on the overhead light and gaped as he saw Blaine, a blanket wrapped around him, half-sitting, half-lying on one hip, watching him cautiously from a corner of the room that had been entirely dark when the room was lit only by what crept in through the window.

"Blaine? What's going on?"

Blaine didn't answer Kurt at first and so Kurt turned on a table lamp to be able to see him better. Blaine was shivering and Kurt wondered how long he had been huddling there.

He wondered if pretending that nothing unusual was happening might work. "Dad and I will take you to the doctor in about forty minutes. He's really nice, he's been our family doctor since I was in kindergarten." Kurt stepped closer to the wall and slid down to a sitting position a few feet from Blaine, who was still watching him intently. "Since my pajamas fit you, I bet the rest of my clothing will, too." The clothing from his lumberjack phase would be loose and wouldn't press on any cuts or bruises.

Blaine looked like he was getting ready to say something, so Kurt waited, trying to look encouraging. Finally, Blaine burst out, "Please, Kurt, **sir** , please, please tell me what's happening, what you're planning to do."

Kurt hated that "sir" but that wasn't the important thing now. "I promise you, honestly, we just want to help you. We'll take care of you. I don't know what would convince me, either, if our places were reversed, but believe me, Blaine, we do want to help you."

"Why?" Blaine whispered, his eyes searching Kurt's. "Why me?"

"This is going to sound so strange, but oh, well. First, my mom and dad hated slavery and raised me to hate it, too. But why you, that's where it gets strange. Rachel and I were just cutting through the market, we were late, and I heard this voice singing. I just had to know who it was and I followed it. It was you singing. It seemed, oh, not that I believe in a god or a religion, but it seemed like a miracle that I was able to help you then." He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "The rest, as they say, is history."

Blaine stared at him. "I...I hadn't sung in years. But I was dreaming or maybe I was just, I don't know, seeing things. My...my father and I used to sing together when, when he was alive. I **saw** him, Kurt, and he started singing to me...and I started to sing along...and he told me to keep on singing." He was shaking with tears and Kurt inched closer, reaching out to him with one hand, trying not to spook Blaine. Instead, Blaine leaned towards him, and as Kurt drew nearer, he almost launched himself at Kurt, burying his face in Kurt's chest and sobbing.

Kurt, as delicately as possible, patted his shoulders and back. He was afraid that any contact beyond that could either hurt or intimidate Blaine, or feel like an act of control. He was feeling relieved that finally, Blaine did seem to believe fully that he was safe from maltreatment, but then made out the words between Blaine's sobs. "I don't deserve this."

_And yet another issue I am not qualified to deal with comes up. Oh, joy._ Kurt was keeping his inner snark on full power so as not to break down himself. He let Blaine keep crying on his chest until the sobs turned into sniffles, which was always, at least for him, the sign that full-scale embarrassment was only minutes away. He sneaked a glance at the clock and saw that it was almost time to go.

"Blaine, we need to leave for the doctor's office in about half an hour. Let's go upstairs and get some breakfast, okay?"

He helped Blaine to a standing position and then up the stairs, noting to himself that this was the first time since he'd begun high school that he'd be leaving the house in the morning without even a shower, let alone paying proper attention to getting dressed or his hair.

Once in the kitchen, he had the same difficulties with trying to coax Blaine into expressing any kind of opinion or request for breakfast, so finally gave him the same fruit and toast that he prepared for himself. Again, Blaine barely nibbled at the food, Kurt was able to persuade him into a few more bites, and then he looked as though any more would make him sick. He had no idea if the problem was physical, psychological, or both, but at least Dr. Meyer would be able to help figure out the first.

Burt returned to the kitchen, "You guys about ready?" Kurt looked at the other boy, who had lowered his head and drawn in on himself. Kurt marveled at how, without barely moving, Blaine could make himself seem so small and unobtrusive, barely noticeable. Most likely it had been a survival skill, he decided, bitterly. "Is there anything else you want, Blaine, before we go?" Blaine shook his head, barely perceptibly, and Kurt again supported him on the way to the SUV.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Meyer was waiting for them at the office. The medical building was almost entirely empty. Kurt smiled a warm welcome at him and the doctor greeted Blaine with a warm, "Blaine? I'm Bill Meyer. I'll be taking a look at you and helping get you patched back together." He led them into his office and stopped in the empty, dark lobby. "Do you want somebody in the examining room with you?" Blaine again lowered his eyes, but Kurt guessed, hoping that he was right, said a quick, "I can come help you with anything," and Blaine's quick glance at him seemed to be grateful.

Kurt helped him get into the hospital gown in the examining room and the doctor returned after a few moments. After listening to Blaine's lungs, he took blood for testing and started a careful, though examination. Blaine had started to shiver again during the exam and Kurt, not knowing what might help ease him, simply caught his eye and tried to smile sympathetically. He couldn't read Blaine's answering look and was actually relieved when Dr. Meyer started to examine the cuts on Blaine's face.

"Was it a knife that did this?" he asked.

"No," Blaine said, in a subdued voice. "It was broken glass."

The doctor nodded, "That explains why they're so wide. Did any of the glass break in any of these?"

"I don't remember."

"Not a problem. I'm going to give you some local anesthetic and I'll clean these and stitch them up." When the doctor finished with that, he continued to tend to the rest of Blaine's injuries, draining infected cuts, cleaning and stitching where needed. Blaine seemed to be in far less physical discomfort as he went on, though he still switched between seeking and avoiding any kind of eye contact with Kurt.

"All done with that," Dr. Meyer announced, "I just need some x-rays, we can splint your hands, see what would work best for your foot, and then you can get out of here."

* * *

Dr. Meyer returned alone to the waiting room. A few other lights in the medical building had turned on as people were already coming into the various offices. Burt put down the magazine he'd been leafing through to give his eyes and hands something to do. "So how is he?"

"Well, he's got pneumonia, some broken bones going back years, a lot of current ones, malnutrition, and of course all those cuts and bruises. I stitched him up and set the bones. I've got some prescriptions for him, too. Two broad spectrum antibiotics for all the secondary and bacterial infections, plus a good painkiller. The pneumonia's viral so we just have to wait that one out. Better be careful with the pain pills, since he might be suicide risk. Give them to him one dose at a time and make sure he swallows them."

Burt nodded, digesting this. Unfortunately, suicide risk was too easy to believe. It was when things started to get a bit better and somebody started feeling that first feeling of efficacy again that the risk was highest. "Anything else? Mentally?"

"Too early to tell. Right now, he's still a mess, to use the technical medical term. He might not get much better or he might make a complete recovery." He smiled. "Your Kurt's definitely assigned himself protector in chief. He's getting him dressed again."

Burt shook his head. "I still don't know whether I more want to hug him half to death for buying that kid or throttle him."

"That's what being a parent's all about and you should know that by now. You remember when you brought him in after he tried to be a gymnast on top of the swing set?"

"All too clearly," Burt groaned. He added, casually, "You want to come over for some poker Wednesday night? Monica and Mike just said they were up for a game. Five card stud."

"Can't say no to that. Let me know where and when."

"Will do."

The doctor paused and then looked Burt in the eye. "Does Carole know about you and your poker game habit?"

Burt felt deeply uncomfortable, even though he'd decided he could live with what he told her. "She knows I've got a habit that could land me in a lot of trouble, I had to tell her that. If I ever pop the question, I'll have to tell her the whole thing, and, well, I guess I'm just not ready."

"You don't have to keep playing, you know. Maybe it's a habit you should give up." Burt looked at his old friend in confusion. "I'm just saying, before it gets too deep, before you've played too many games and played with the really hardcore players. You've got a kid to think about and it sure sounds like you'd like to have a wife to think about, too."

"Are you getting cold feet?"

"Me, no, I'm in it, but I've not put in kinds of stakes that you have. My kids are all grown and gone and Nancy's happier on her own than she was with me those last few years."

"I can't say that I haven't thought of quitting playing poker. I've met enough of the big players to know what kind of a life they live, and part of me hates seeing my boy play. But I'm not a quitter and I don't want to teach Kurt to be one."

"That's true."

"Why're you asking?"

Bill huffed his breath in what was as close as he came to a laugh. "Just got the jitters, I think. Up too early and seeing that Blaine kid. Speak of the devil."

Kurt came out, supporting Blaine, who was wearing a walking cast on his right foot, a full cast on his left hand, and finger splits on several fingers of his right hand. His face was stitched in several places but he still looked so much better that Burt was astonished.

"Kurt, it was good to see you again. Blaine, remember what I said, your job is to get a lot of rest, eat as much as you can, and concentrate on getting better. See you in about ten days to get those stitches out."

Burt stopped for the prescriptions on the way home and when he gave Blaine the dosage, watched to make sure that he had indeed swallowed. Maybe there wasn't much of a risk after all, since Blaine hadn't even asked what they were.

"You get some rest on the couch. I think it'll be easiest if we clear out the office for you and put up the guest cot in there, so you won't have to climb up and down stairs." He didn't want to reproach the kid, but he had to make the point that Blaine should speak up for himself. "I wish you'd said something about a broken foot earlier, Blaine, we just want to help you." Burt said it casually to avoid making the kid feel even more uncomfortable.

Finn came down, still in his sweats and with his own case of bed head, probably awakened by the sound of the two Hummels retrieving and opening the cot. "Oh, hi, what's going on?"

"We're making the office into a room for Blaine, his foot's broken, so that way he won't have to go up or down stairs," Kurt explained, pushing the last brace into position.

"Oh, right." Finn turned to go to the kitchen and passed the couch. He gaped for a moment, obviously checking out the casts and stitches, and then said, "Hi, I'm Finn, you must be Blaine."

Burt watched to see how Blaine would interact with a new stranger. Sure enough, he immediately tensed and looked apprehensive, lowering his head and saying nothing. Finn looked bewildered and opened his mouth to say or ask something, but Kurt caught his glance first and shook his head, spreading his hands to signal a clear "don't go there." Finn continued into the kitchen but looked back.

"Let's get this into the office, I'll make it up, and then go catch up with Finn," Kurt said, casually.

Finn was standing in the kitchen, looking blankly at the cabinets. He turned when Kurt came in.

"Wow. He looks really bad."

"You should have seen him before," Kurt answered, but gently.

"Somebody really cut him up."

Kurt reminded himself that Finn was probably processing things rather than trying to make observations, so he kept all the possible sarcastic replies unspoken. Finn took down a bowl for cereal but stared into it as though he was trying to read something in the bottom.

"No wonder Rachel helped you buy him." Still holding the empty bowl, he sat down at the table, looking up at Kurt, who poured himself coffee and sat down next to him.

"It's like...if anybody did that to you or me, I mean, they'd go to jail, probably everybody we know would want to beat them up, but because he's a slave, it's okay."

Kurt nodded. "That's how it is, all right."

"You know, Mom always said it was wrong and I got it, but it's not the same as seeing it with your own eyes." He looked away for a minute and Kurt waited. "I don't know what to say to him, you know what I mean? Sucks that somebody didn't feed you? Sorry that somebody went all slasher movie on your face?"

"Well, for what it's worth, I think what you said was fine." Finn looked so relieved that Kurt felt a surge of guilt over the secrets he was keeping.

 

* * *

 

Burt didn't like his recent train of thoughts at all. Carole deserved to know. But then the less she knew the safer she'd be. Unless not knowing anything at all would put her in more danger. But, and he had to admit this consideration played a bigger role than he'd have liked, what if it meant that he lost her? He ran that risk before, when he kicked Finn out. But Kurt was his son and a man's children are his first responsibility.

Then he wondered if he could really say that he loved Carole, if he was willing to hide this from her for his own sake, not hers. But what if he was wrong about his judgment of her? On the other hand, she might find out anyway, and better now than before he got any deeper into it.

Just as he made his mind up to tell her, Kurt came in, looking troubled.

"What's wrong?"

Kurt sighed. "I'm starting to feel guilty about keeping things from Finn. He's my brother, for all practical purposes, dammit, I should be able to tell him things."

Burt chuckled ruefully. "Great minds think alike. I was thinking about telling Carole."

"Are you serious?"

"I think I am. If I'm going to ask her to marry me, I've got to be honest with her."

Kurt's eyes widened and his hands flew up to his cheeks. "Did you just say 'marry?'"

Burt hadn't felt that sheepish in years. "Did I really say that?"

"You did and you can't get out of it now! Dad, this is so great!" Kurt was grinning all over his face. "You have GOT to let me help pick out the ring."

"I wouldn't dare not to," Burt laughed, feeling lighter than he had since Kurt first admitted that he'd bought a slave. He'd been more worried than he thought about Kurt's reaction, but here the kid looked as excited as if he'd just gotten a proposal himself. But once the relief ebbed away, it also left a new certainty in its place; he had to tell Carole.

He knew Carole would be back around 2:00 and he didn't know if he was more dreading or looking forward to it. He checked on Blaine several times, each time finding him sleeping. He called the garage to make sure that they didn't need him there for anything. He wondered why there were so many cable channels and nothing that he wanted to watch. It was only Kurt's patented Glare of Ice that made him stop pacing. Finally, her car pulled in.

"How've my men been?" she asked after kissing Burt and giving Finn and Kurt quick hugs. "Anything destroyed? Any apologies to make to the neighbors?"

The three looked at one another and her eyes narrowed. "There's something you're not telling me and **don't** try to look innocent."

"Maybe I'd better get you settled with a beer," Burt intervened hastily.

"That's the only delay you're allowed." When Burt came back, she looked at Kurt and said, "For once, you're looking the guiltiest."

"I...I bought a slave," he started, and rushed to finish at her aghast look. "It was just to save his life, the dealer was going to kill him."

"Oh, Kurt..." She looked so distraught that Burt sat down next to her and grabbed her hand.

"Dad and I took him to the doctor, he'll be okay but it will take a long time."

"Where is he? **Who** is he?"

Burt answered that one. "He has a broken foot so we made the office into a bedroom for him. Carole, he's just a kid, our kids' age. His name is Blaine." Burt got up. "Sweetheart, there's something I've got to tell you. You, too, Finn." Burt wanted to get it over with, one way or the other. "Let's go outside." He paused and added, "I want this to be just family time, so leave the cell phones here, okay?" Finn and Carole looked puzzled, but she shrugged, "Mine's in my purse," and Finn fished his out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. Kurt silently put his next to it.

Once outdoors, Burt felt all of his planned words disappear. He looked helplessly at Kurt, who gave him an equally helpless look. Not that he expected his kid to do the hard work here, but still, he could at least have looked like this was going to be easy.

"Uh, Carole? You know how Kurt and I talk about playing poker sometimes? Uh, we don't really play poker. Kurt and I, you see, well..." His look at Kurt was more of an SOS this time.

"We're part of a group that-" Kurt started but then stopped.

"That helps to get slaves and wanted slave freers onto the Ohio River and out to the St. Lawrence, up to Canada." Burt finished rapidly. He was so determined to get the words out that he realized he sounded almost as precise as Kurt.

Carole and Finn both stared at them, slack-jawed. "Please, say something," Kurt pleaded, looking at both of them beseechingly.

"What...how..." Carole looked entirely lost.

"It was...it was Elizabeth who got me started. It meant so much to her. We nearly gave it up when Kurt was born, the stakes got so much higher then, but...we decided that we had to keep going, and then when she died, I nearly gave it up, but had to keep going for her sake. To keep doing this and keep taking care of Kurt."

Kurt smiled, shakily. "I found out when I hid in the back of Dad's car. I didn't know where he was going all those nights and got very nosy."

"He scared me to death when he popped up in the back seat in the way back. I asked him how much he'd seen and heard and he said, 'Everything.'"

Carole laughed a little. "I can just see that. I don't know what to say, but...I am so proud of you both."

"You're, like, so much cooler than I thought!" Finn exclaimed. "You're like kind of badass!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Blaine starts to recover, tell more of his story, and become part of the family, Carole and Finn struggle to take in what they learned about Burt and Kurt.

Carole excused herself, explaining that she needed a cup of tea and some time to process all of this. She sat down at the kitchen table, as the steam from the cup drifted past her face. She wasn't at all surprised that Kurt had bought a slave to save his life, or that Burt had committed himself to help. They were both vocally anti-slavery and more, Burt's gruffness and Kurt's bitchiness both hid very susceptible hearts.

As she thought about it, she wasn't even that surprised any more that they were helping to smuggle slave freers out to independent states. Once Burt committed himself to something, he was in it all the way. It was a bit harder for her to understand Kurt, but there was a lot of anger churning under his haughty exterior. This was another way that he could hit back at a society that wanted him to hide who he is.

She had to face her own reactions, though. She loved Burt beyond any kind of reason or sense. It wasn't only the teens that saw the entire world and half themselves swirl and dissolve into one other person when they fell in love. The idea that he was risking his life and freedom felt like somebody had slipped a knife between her ribs, aimed at her heart.

She could lose Burt to this. She knew that if she walked out now, she'd recover, some day. But if she stayed, and let love deepen and entangle itself into every part of her life even more than now, and then he were killed or caught, could she endure that?

She realized that her tea was room temperature now, but picked it up and drank it anyway. She just couldn't decide. She went over to the sink and rinsed her cut, looking outside to see Finn and Kurt and Burt still talking. Finn positively seemed to be glowing with excitement. The implications hadn't hit him yet, but she knew she had to be there for him when they did. She heard an unexpected sound from the living room and turned around, then realized that she'd forgotten entirely about the slave that Kurt had purchased. It made her feel utterly terrible that she'd forgotten his name. It began with a "B," that much she remembered.

She went into the living room and saw a dark-haired boy go into the office. "Hello, I'm-" She broke off at the immediately alarmed look on his face as he turned as quickly as he could to face her. Kurt and Burt had both warned her that he was still terrified, but somehow she'd thought it must mean only that he was jumpy or shy. "I'm Carole," she continued, warmly. "I'm Finn's mother."

He remained standing, looking at the floor. She couldn't see more of his bandaged face, but could see the casts on his foot and hand and the splinted fingers on the other hand. "Were you going back to bed?" she asked. "Do you need a hand with anything?" His confusion and hesitation were breaking her heart, especially when she saw that he momentarily looked at her and then away, as if he was afraid of making eye contact.

Well, Finn had gotten in more than enough childhood injuries for her to know how to help him physically. She pulled the sheet and blankets part way from the bed. "There, if you sit down, you can get your leg back up and then we can get you covered again." He did as instructed and she carefully tucked the covers over him.

"I'll bring you some tea, sweetheart, just a minute. Do you want sugar or milk?" He didn't answer, and she decided that given how underweight he looked, she'd put in both. She plugged in the electric kettle and made enough for two cups.

"Here you go, but be careful, it's hot." She cleared a corner of the desk near the bed and put both mugs there. He cautiously reached for the one nearest him, the one with the very wide, large handle that she thought would be easiest. "Do you want me to help you with that?" She had to stop asking questions, she told herself, holding the mug for him until he'd drunk enough that it was lighter.

He started coughing and she realized that there weren't any tissues in the room. "I hate to say it, but I will anyway. Men! I'll get you some tissues and a wastebasket." She retrieved them from the bathroom and pulled several tissues from the box to hand to him.

"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed as another coughing spate was so strong that it seemed too much for his frail body. "My poor baby," she murmured, smoothing the hair from his face. He still hadn't said a word to her, she realized. She adjusted the pillows behind him. "There, if you want to sit up, that will be more comfortable. Some more tea? That can't have made your throat feel good." He seemed to be letting down his guard a little and when she saw him steal another cautious glance at her, she smiled encouragingly. She helped him finish the tea and then she put an arm around him while lowering the pillows again so he could lie down.

"I'll stay here a little until you're asleep." She touched his hair lightly and as his breathing became heavier, she found an unhurt spot on his forehead to kiss. "Sleep well, sweetheart, you're safe here."

She got up after a few minutes and left. Burt was in the living room and without a word, held her tightly. "That poor boy, Burt. We'll never let anybody hurt him again."

 

* * *

 

 

Over the last days, Blaine had been recovering steadily. Even if his cough wasn't any better, his fever was lower each day and even the infected cuts were starting to heal. He was walking more easily and was better able to feed himself as his broken fingers were clearly less painful and he was able to move the splinted fingers. He had also begun to eat more and Kurt had been genuinely impressed with Finn's idea that they make sure to eat every meal that they could as a family, with Blaine. He still kept his eyes lowered and avoided talking as much as possible, but Kurt reminded himself that it would take time.

Tuesday night, though, the conversations were strained. They had agreed that Blaine didn't need to know about Burt and Kurt's "poker games," but not being able to speak about tomorrow made everything awkward. Kurt could sense Carole's and Finn's worry and he also sensed something else from Finn that day, something that almost seemed like resentment, but Finn hadn't said anything, just shot both him and his father the occasional sullen and hurt look.

He hadn't had a chance to get Finn alone to ask him what was going on. Finn had football practice, he had come home right after school, and by the time Finn was back, Carole was already home and they were making dinner together. He'd even tried to catch Finn alone but Finn had avoided all of Kurt's probably unsubtle attempts to talk one on one. After they had finished eating, Burt gave Blaine the evening's dose of medications and gently shooed him back to bed, since the pain killers made him so drowsy.

Kurt volunteered himself and Finn to clear the table and put the dishes into the dishwasher. Once in the kitchen, he cornered his older brother, put his hand on his hips, and demanded to know what was wrong.

"I don't know, Kurt, why don't you tell me what's wrong with me?"

"What?"

"So you and Burt are going off tomorrow to help get slaves free and you don't even ask me?"

"Finn-"

"I said that I was going to be a real brother to you and keep you safe, remember?"

"So you're mad that Dad and I aren't asking you to put yourself in danger? Finn Hudson, that's very sweet and very disturbing."

"Don't make a joke out of it. I know you think that I'm stupid but I still should get to help you."

"Finn, look, it's not that anybody thinks you're stupid," Kurt sighed, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down.

Finn pulled out the chair opposite. "So what is it, then?"

"It's your mom. If anything happens to Dad or me, or both of us, that's two people gone from her life. If anything happens to you...Finn, do you even know what happens to somebody who violates the Property Amendment?"

"You go to jail, right?"

Kurt shook his head. "Lethal force is legal, so anybody catching you, police or not, can kill you for it. If you're arrested and convicted, you get sold yourself."

"No way." Finn was immediately indignant. "They can do that?" He thought about it a moment and then added, "So that means that you and Burt could end up slaves? Why do you do it, then?"

"Because of Mom. She was politically well-connected, her family was really rich, and she was starting to get seriously involved in the opposition to the Amendment. Then she met Dad, and they got married. I was their little surprise, she didn't think that she could have children. She got out of politics for a while because I was premature and needed a lot of care for a while. She was worried about the death threats she'd gotten before, too, she was scared that something might happen to me, or that Dad would be left alone with an infant. She started getting back into it when I got older, the death threats picked up again, and then the car accident...the police said it was an accident, but..." Kurt swallowed. "It got personal for Dad after that, as the saying goes. And for me, too, once I asked him the same question you did."

Finn sat quietly digesting all of this. "So that explains why your dad got so mad when you bought Blaine."

"Yeah, handing money to the industry that probably killed my mom, but..." Kurt sighed. "Now you see why we didn't ask you to join us tomorrow. Especially now with Blaine, if anything happens to Dad and me, he's got to have somebody left."

 

* * *

 

Kurt had a difficult time getting to sleep that night. The talk with Finn had gotten to him more than he thought, he kept hearing Blaine coughing, and he was worried about what the evening would bring. Five card stud meant that it would be a large group coming in, at least fifteen. That meant there would be a lot more risk. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to keep Finn from coming and trying to help. It should be easy enough to lose Finn if he tried to follow them, but sometimes Finn's tenacity could produce some surprising results.

He tried all of his usual methods of falling asleep, including deconstructing the knitting in Rachel's latest animal sweaters, which was usually the killer app for sleep, but nothing worked. He gave up and went upstairs for some warm milk. He hadn't heard Blaine coughing for a while so he crept up as quietly as he could, using his flashlight to avoid turning on a light and waking the other boy. He heard a tiny rustling noise in the kitchen and instinctively swung the flashlight to illuminate that corner of the kitchen. Blaine was crouching near the door, one hand in the wastebasket, and some scraps of leftover food in his lap. He looked up and froze as the light hit his face.

"Blaine? Were you taking food from the _wastebasket_?"

"I'm..I'm sorry, I woke up and I was hungry and...I didn't think it would be wrong!"

Kurt took several deep breaths, then realized that Blaine was still staring at him in alarm and that he'd better say something. "Blaine, don't you know by now that you don't have to do things like that any more? That if you want food, you should just help yourself? Or if you want, just ask me or Carole to make it for you?" Blaine's expression was definitely "I can understand the words but have no idea what you're saying" and so Kurt came closer, then got on the ground next to him.

"You're not a slave any more here and you're not even a guest any more, you're family now." Blaine looked away swiftly, almost as if he were rejecting the notion and Kurt sighed. "I wish you would say what you're thinking."

He barely heard the response. "What I'm thinking? That I don't deserve it. That it's wrong for me to be like this." Kurt had never heard bitterness and self-loathing like that before, but his mind whipped back to Blaine's previous statement that he didn't deserve it.

"Why not? What could you have done to mean that you deserve to eat from a wastebasket?"

"I killed my father, for one."

"What happened?"

Blaine spoke in a harsh, clipped voice. "I was nine. His enemies had set him up as having funneled money to terrorists. That was a family penalty, not just a personal penalty crime. They arrested us both. They kept us separate and told me that he wasn't going to confess and that that meant the death penalty for him. They said that I was too young for any serious penalty, that I would just get a year in custody and re-education but that if I testified against him, if I said at the trial everything that they told me to say, that he had friends who would get him off." Blaine's voice changed and became young and vulnerable again. "They lied, Kurt. I testified against him and they gave him the death penalty. He was executed two days later. One of the guards let me see him. Oh, God, Kurt, he said that he understood what happened, that I had been tricked, that he loved me and would always love me..." Blaine buried his face in his hands and Kurt edged closer. "After he was executed, they sold me. I deserved it, I was the one who killed him, I let them trick me..."

"But Blaine, he forgave you..."

"I didn't deserve it, don't you see? Why can't you see that?"

"You were nine years old, you were scared and confused, people tricked you, and you think you deserve what happened? You don't, Blaine, you don't." Cautiously, he pulled Blaine to his feet, letting the leftover food fall to the ground, and sat him at the table. "I'm going to have some warm milk, does that sound good to start?" Blaine didn't respond, so Kurt poured milk into two mugs and added several spoonfuls of honey. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and pulled out another mug. "Hello, Finn." "How do you keep doing that?"

"Finn, nobody else in this household walks like you. I'm making Blaine and me some warm milk and then putting something else together for him. Blaine, I froze some of my famous pecan waffles last time I made them, how does that sound?"

"You really should try them, they're great," Finn agreed enthusiastically. "If I'd known there were any in the freezer, I'd have eaten them."

"That's why I didn't tell you," Kurt said, tartly.

"You should totally put one of those almost runny eggs on top."

"You are so good at making things sound appetizing, I don't know why restaurants don't hire you to write menus. Blaine, Finn means with a lightly poached egg."

Kurt pulled an apron over his pajamas and put the mugs of milk in the microwave to heat as he pulled out another pan for the eggs and extracted the waffles from the freezer. "That is so not fair," Finn complained as he saw that Kurt had written "Tofu" on the package.

"I wanted to save them in case we had a special occasion. The three of us on our first joint refrigerator raid counts. You getting hungry is a very ordinary occasion."

Kurt carefully watched Blaine, who seemed to be relaxing slightly at the banter between the two of them. He was still thinking through what Blaine had told him. After Blaine's trauma and enslavement, it wouldn't take much to make him believe that it was all his fault and that he deserved whatever might happen to him. He swallowed hard at the thought that there was something bad enough to make even Blaine try to run away from the way an owner treated him. He put the mug of warm milk in front of Blaine with a gentle, "Here you go," and cut the finished waffles and egg into slices that would be easy for him to pick up with a fork.

Finn kept chattering about his favorites among Kurt's recipes to Blaine, and even though Kurt was certain that Finn hadn't overheard the earlier conversation with Blaine, he was being absolutely perfect, saying things like, "You have got to have him make you that one," or "If you want him to make that one, there's this one grocery store we've got to go to to get that lemony stuff. I kind of got kicked out of there for asking 'what's that' a few too many times, but they still like Kurt."

"They didn't kick you out for asking what it was, they kicked you out for freaking when you found you sampled duck tongue and thought that you were cheating on Rachel with a duck by eating it because it was kind of like kissing."

Kurt was certain that Blaine actually snickered at that.


	5. Chapter 5

Carole knew in her head that there were all kinds of reasons why she wasn't out there with Burt and Kurt that night. She also knew that there were reasons for them not even to mention the specifics of what they would be doing or where or with whom.

But she had sent a man she loved with all her heart off to a war and he never returned. Burt had brought all that loving back but it seemed like he was bringing all the pain back, too. The waiting, the helplessness, the knowing that as close as they felt, she might never even be certain what happened to him.

He knew, too. His eyes apologized a million times as he showed her again where all the vital documents were. Now some of his decisions made sense. When they had bought the new house, he had insisted on putting it in her name, but giving him and Kurt the right to live there. He'd transferred accounts that were in his name alone to joint accounts. That way, if anything happened to him, she and Finn and Kurt would be taken care of.

Kurt had matter-of-factly done much the same. He'd filled out a form giving Blaine to her and to Finn, since he couldn't officially free him. It was amazing how little paperwork it took. She wasn't an angry person, but the little memo line that the instructions said could be used for notes or gift greetings rankled with her for hours.

The sound of the doorbell made her leap and it wasn't until she peered through the peephole and saw Puck there that she remembered Finn had mentioned that he was coming over for some practice. "Hi, Mrs. H., how're you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Puck, thanks for asking. Finn's upstairs."

"Thanks." He flashed her a charming grin before heading upstairs, taking them two at a time.

She turned on the television, if only to have other voices and faces in the room with her. The first channel was some kind of football movie and she left it on. After a few minutes, Blaine emerged from his room and looked at her hesitantly.

"What is it, honey?"

"Is everything all right? Something, something feels off." His voice trailed off and the worry on his face hit her hard. "And Kurt and Mr. Hummel aren't here."

Carole had no idea what to say. She didn't want to lie, but then again, she didn't want to alarm him with the truth. In some ways, he seemed to have stopped growing up at the point when his childhood ended, as though enduring too much for his years had kept him caught there. "They have to be gone for a while," she said, calmly. "Sit down, Blaine, and I'll make us some coffee."

Instead of sitting, he followed her into the kitchen. Kurt had fussed so much over the layout and the appliances, incredulous when Burt asked if there was much of a difference among stoves other than electric or gas. It was so good that she could feel close to Kurt and that Finn could feel close to Burt, once Kurt got over over his jealousy. She reminded herself that they were bound to be all right, that Kurt and Burt had come back from several expeditions like this unscathed. The only difference now was that there were people waiting at home for them. By any common sense, that shouldn't make a difference, and part of her did believe that her quiet praying could actually help. But somehow it seemed to her as though fate reserved its harshest blows for those who could least withstand them and for those who could be hurt the most.

She poured the coffee into two mugs and passed behind Blaine to get sugar. As she passed back, she ran her fingers affectionately through his hair and he gasped and froze.

"Sweetie, I'm so sorry, did I hurt you?"

She watched as he made himself unclench his muscles and calm his breathing. "I, it's nothing, just...when he did this-," he reached up to his face, "He held me by the hair. It..." He shivered. "Why can't I stop remembering everything?" he asked, in a tiny voice.

She bent over to hug him, "Give it time, sweetheart, give it time. There will be new memories, I promise."

At that moment, the door opened and Burt and Kurt came home. She rushed to them and held them close.

* * *

After another appointment a few days later, Bill Meyer walked out into the waiting room. "He's a whole different kid," he said to Burt. "He's got a long way to go still, but he's put on some weight, the pneumonia is almost gone, and I could take out most of the stitches. Last time, I thought we might have had to give him something for the anxiety, just for a while, to let his mind catch up to the fact that he's safe, but I don't think he even needs that."

"Good. I don't want to drug a kid if we don't have to."

"I gave Kurt the details on starting some gentle exercises now that the bones are starting to heal up. It can't hurt to give him some calcium pills, as well as making sure he's getting plenty in his food. Let's stop the oral antibiotics and use just the topical ones on those cuts. I've also cut down the strength of the pain killers, but call if it's not enough and I'll give you a stronger prescription." He paused. "I hate to ask, but is he taken care of in case you ever lose a game?"

Burt nodded. "Kurt transferred ownership to Carole and her son. They're not gamblers and won't be."

"Good." The doctor nodded to himself and then looked sharply at Burt. "Have you thought again about what I said? It seems a lot more real and near now, that if Kurt ever loses a game and can't get away from the table, he could end up in trouble. Blaine's counting on him now. That's some real hero-worship there."

Burt sighed. "I did talk to him. He gave me one of those Kurt looks and told me that he's not very big on compromise."

"That he's not. Pig-headed's the word," Bill chuckled affectionately. "But he could cut back for a while, even just a few weeks."

"Well, next week he and I have an invite to the regional game. They want to talk to us especially. We might need to think about what kinds of stakes they'll ask us to play with."

"Well, here they are now. But think about it." Burt had lost track of some of the small changes in Blaine, but talking with his friend about how much better the kid was gave him new eyes for a moment. Blaine looked at them and met his eyes with a small smile, even though he was still walking awkwardly from the foot cast, he wasn't leaning on Kurt for support, and his bruises were fading, some entirely gone. His eyes were clear and though watchful, weren't afraid. Admittedly, the only people there were ones he knew, but Burt remembered his almost feral fear of any movement, even from those who had never harmed him.

At home, Blaine did seem emotionally dependent on Kurt, often following him with his eyes and trying to be close to him, but that was understandable enough and harmless, at least for now. He wasn't sure how to start introducing Blaine to the rest of the world since at some point, he'd want and need more than just the shelter of four walls, but time enough to think about that later.

"Your mom would be proud of you, Kurt." He reached out and hugged his son, not even seeing the troubled look on Bill Cooper's face.

* * *

Rachel looked up at Finn with a furrowed brow. "So which title sequence do you prefer?"

"Uh...what was the one after the fourth one you showed me?"

"The one with me in the white dress?"

"Yeah, I liked the part where you bent over." Finn realized that wasn't the right response at his girlfriend's outraged face.

"Finn, this is a serious documentary and the title sequence is an important part of it. It is not a chance for you to ogle my breasts."

"But they're good breasts. I mean, _really_ good." He thought that would make her happier but instead she sighed.

"In all the seventeen minutes of that title sequence, even if it is one of the shorter ones, that's all that you remember? Finn, this documentary is going to transform the entire nation, if not the world, and you need to take it seriously."

"Shouldn't you, you know, shoot some of the actual documentary before you come up with the title sequence?" Kurt had advised him to try to distract her when she stood with her hands on her hips like that. "Maybe one of the songs?"

_He shoots, he scores! Or at least, he distracts._ "I haven't picked all of them, yet. I'd ask Kurt for his advice, since he understands my range, even though his is smaller, but the first time I brought it up, he said something about how he was surprised that I wasn't already writing my Cannes Film Festival acceptance speech for the Rachel Berry Talent Showcase, and he's avoided talking to me about it since."

"Rach, I think he might have been trying to say that if the title sequence is kind of long, and it's all about you, and that you'll be performing a lot of songs, it's kind of becoming a project about you, not a documentary about Blaine."

"But that's not fair! I need to put everything into music to ensure that people understand what a terrible thing slavery is, and the title sequence sets everything up for that."

Finn wasn't sure what to say about that, but apparently this was one of those times when it was good that he didn't say anything, because he saw the expressions on Rachel's face change as she thought about it. Finally, her face crumpled. "Finn, I've tried again and again to start writing, I've tried background writing, I've tried dramatic reenactments, but nothing works. I keep getting stuck or I just don't know how to say it. I know I get straight As in everything except when the teachers are jealous of my talents or don't understand me, but I just can't get the rest of it perfect."

"Hey, it's okay, c'mere, we'll think of something." She sniffled quietly in his shirt while he hugged her and they sat down on her bed together.

"Why don't you just, you know, talk to him on camera? Ask him questions, have a conversation with him? Talk to Mom and Burt and Kurt, maybe find some experts to talk to?"

"You mean like an investigative journalism project?" That seemed to make her happier.

"Yeah, like Lois Lane in Superman."

"An investigative crusade against the evils of slavery and the brave reporter who strips the veil of political and economic talk to show the ugly truth?" Oh, yeah, Rachel was way happier now. "Through the power of simple conversation, the world can be changed."

"Yeah, something like that."

_Later at school._

"An investigative crusade against the evils of slavery and the brave reporter who strips the veil of political and economic talk to show the ugly truth? Through the power of simple conversation, the world can be changed," Rachel enthused.

"Yeah, yeah. So you want me to set you up with a camera and some basic shooting tips." Lauren didn't go much for enthused.

"If you would."

"Fine. Usual fee applies and I get listed in the title sequence."

* * *

Later that night, a phone call:

"Sergeant? All set. Next move they make, we can bring in Codename Bear and Codename Bird."

"Finally."

 

* * *

If Carole were inclined to believe in the supernatural, she'd have sworn that her son was some kind of magician when it came to groceries. All he had to do was walk past the kitchen and half of that week's shopping would be gone in less than a minute. Burt looked back wistfully on his own past accomplishments and the days when he could eat anything and everything, causing Kurt to fold his arms sternly and eye Burt in case he'd make a sudden dash for cheese, salt, or anything fatty.

So when she brought in the groceries and nothing disappeared between her putting the bags on the counter and putting the food away, her first thought was that Finn wasn't in the house, even though she could have sworn she heard his voice. Curious, she looked for him and heard him and Blaine talking from Blaine's room.

"It's really just tens and ones, so you can separate it out into 5 tens and 1 one."

There was a pause and then she heard Blaine's voice. "Like that?"

"Yeah, just like that." Finn sounded so proud and pleased. "Now what you do is put them in three piles, starting with the tens."

"Okay, now I have two left over."

"So now you can break those tens into ones and put all of the ones into those three piles."

"Oh, okay, that makes sense, I guess."

Finn looked up and saw her. "Oh, hi, Mom, I was just teaching Blaine some more math. We're up to long division already." He grinned proudly and Blaine looked up with a smile.

"Finn is great at explaining things," he said, admiringly.

Carole had to do her best not to look shocked. She never, ever would have thought that Finn should be allowed to teach math. But here he was, explaining math concepts like a natural, and Blaine was soaking it up. She hadn't realized before that of course he had to be behind in learning almost everything, but obviously Finn had figured it out and even taken charge of fixing the situation.

* * *

"Oh, he is _not_ trying to set up a flea flicker!"

"Who does he think he is, Kurt Warner?"

Kurt shook his head in amusement as he poured the fresh popcorn into the bowl. Burt had gotten himself a new football-watching buddy in Blaine. It was the latest routine for the family. Burt, Carole, Finn, and Blaine glued themselves to the television while Kurt strolled in and out, making comments about the names of the plays, positions, and anything else that struck him as a possible target, but bringing in healthy snacks for Burt and Carole, who ate the fresh vegetables, lemon-pepper unsalted and unbuttered popcorn, and low-fat pizza slices in sympathy to Burt and to her own perpetual "diet when I remember to and don't feel especially tempted," while Blaine and Finn gorged on chips, dip, and regular pizza. Inevitably, he'd end up joining them in the living room, leaning back against the couch between Finn's legs, getting a shoulder massage to pay him for the cooking and to keep him quiet.

"They're both open!"

"Throw to Espinoza, throw to Espinoza!" He could hear Carole pounding on the arm of the couch.

Kurt brought the bowl in and settled it within everybody's reach, then took his own usual place. Finn automatically leaned forward and started to rub his shoulders, while not taking his eyes off the game for an instant. Kurt almost purred as he felt his shoulder muscles turning into pudding under his brother's hands. If sometimes he imagined it was one of the players, well, it was nobody's business but his own, and if they didn't want to be the target of one Kurt Hummel's romantic fantasies, they could always formally apply in writing.

The phone rang and Kurt reluctantly got to his feet to answer.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Burt Hummel?"

Kurt knew what the answer to that was during a football game. "I'm afraid he's busy right now, may I take a message?"

"Is this Kurt Hummel, then?"

"Speaking."

"This is Cyrus Mueller." Kurt recognized the name as that week's pseudonym for a verified contact and answered with that week's acknowledgment, "From the newspaper?"

"Yes. Can you and he make it in three days, at 9:00?"

Kurt mentally calculated. It meant in two days at 11:00 at night. "Would Friday be all right?" That agreed to the time and asked if it was usual place.

"Friday's fine." That confirmed the usual place.

"Thanks. See you then."

Back in the living room, he said that it was about the newspaper. He really didn't want to disrupt the easy moment, Burt and Carole holding hands, Blaine actually leaning a little to rest his head on her shoulder, and Finn next to him, absently gesturing for Kurt to come back and sit down. Time enough for that when the game was over and he could catch his dad alone.

* * *

Burt pulled into the lot just outside the squat building. It looked like he and Kurt were the first to arrive after Michael, their new contact in the leadership cell; he recognized the only other car. For a few minutes during the drive over, he thought that they might have been followed, so took some extra time to stop at a grocery store and pick up some things. The other car was nowhere to be seen afterward and no other vehicle followed them after that, but they more than made up the lost time, thanks to light traffic.

He gave Kurt a hand getting the three suitcases out of the car. He'd invested in another set of tools to keep here and Kurt had done the same with hair-cutting tools and a seemingly endless supply of film makeup and ordinary cosmetics, but they still had to bring fresh clothing each time.

"Ah, so you're here." Michael seemed jittery.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sure it's nothing. Just a creepy sort of night. I hate this low fog, it seems unnatural."

"How many here tonight?" Kurt asked quietly.

"Fifteen. Six cars." He shrugged apologetically. "It's a lot, I know."

"Good ones or cheap ones?"

"One good, the rest cheap."

Burt grimaced. Even one good car was a problem. They could rush through sanding and painting a cheap car, putting on different trim and, if the car was a common enough shape, putting on a different manufacturer's insignia, but the more expensive cars drew attention unless they took a long time on the details.

The fugitives made several brief stops on the way out of the country, switching identities, groups, and vehicles where possible. That way, if anybody got suspicious of a dark-haired single Jeff Malling in a blue Chevy Volt, he was gone after a day, and nobody knew enough to connect him to blond Peter Yarder, a round-faced man driving a Ford Fiesta with his wife and three kids.

They turned at the sound of a car door slamming and Michael looked out the window. "It's just Simon and Fred. Father and son, like you two." Burt and Kurt exchanged a worried glance. People weren't supposed to share even the slightest detail about themselves or other members, even if anybody could make a guess about a relationship or profession. Not saying anything made it easier to keep the habit. Michael had seemed much more in control of himself before. "Now that they're here, let's go back."

Kurt had frozen and was staring at the men who came in. "What is he doing here?" he demanded.

"You? What are you doing here?" Karofsky said it almost at the same time.

"Guys, if you know one another, don't say anything here. And if you have a history, you forget about it." Michael snapped this with a sudden return to authority. Burt watched with concern as Kurt and Karofsky both clearly struggled to calm themselves down.

"Fine. We're going downstairs now. Jack, you start work on the cars. I'll help. Simon, Fred, you start on the new ID cards. Brummel will take care of anybody who needs a face change. After that's done, we all work on the cars."

Michael ushered Kurt ahead of him, clearly to keep him and Karofsky apart. The area was actually a never-used missile base during the Cold War. Somebody had managed to sell the land to the federal government at an exorbitant price, the government contractor got as far as building luxurious accommodations for officers (at cost-plus, of course), and then the government apparently realized that the location would never work and sold it back at one-tenth the price, even before inflation. The land had changed hands three times since then, finally belonging to a sympathizer, who took advantage of all the underground construction to provide a transition place. Officially, he was waiting for the land to rise in value once the recession was over and people were interested in development again, which helped explain the occasional car driving out to the site. Fugitives could even stay for quite some time if necessary, but for most, it was safest and best to keep moving.

Michael introduced Tank, a petite woman who lived on site, ostensibly as a caretaker. "Evacuation plan first. If you're in the north bay, where we are now, go through that door and always turn to the right if there's an option. It slopes back upwards and lets you out again near the highway. There are cell phones in a niche behind the Tunnel 3 sign at the last door. The sign swings clockwise. If you're in the south bay, always go through the green door and up staircases that have paint splashed on them. You'll come out about ten minutes walk from a gas station. The cell phones are behind a sign that says Medical Section. Clear?"

Everybody nodded. "Cars are in the south bay. Michael, take the ID folks back to the dorm."

Kurt heard Karofsky chuckle and mutter, "Tank reminds me of grandma," to his father, who laughed shortly in acknowledgment.

Michael introduced Kurt to three people whose photographs had been circulated as fugitives. "Brummel, can you do these three while Simon and Fred work on IDs?" Kurt, still ignoring the other two as best he could, nodded and studied their faces and builds briefly.

The first was in his late teens or early twenties. He had a medium build but distinctively high and sharp cheekbones and a tattoo on the side of his neck. Kurt experimented with cheek padding and found that that made his cheekbones less visible. His head was shaved, so Kurt selected a wig, attaching it with an adhesive that would resist anything but the hardest tug. He then turned to the tattoos, first covering the red colors with green cream, the black with a white and then a beige on top. After each layer dried, he added a layer of powder that matched the skin tone precisely and sprayed a light fixative on top. "This should last at least 36 hours. If you need to wash it or anything fades, here's the rest of the kit and instructions. The adhesive is oil-soluble, so pour any kind of oil on it to dissolve it, it will take at least three cups. Grab any clothing that's different from what you've been wearing the past few days." Kurt jumped as he realized that Karofsky was literally watching over his shoulder.

"Aren't you supposed to be working on fake IDs?"

Karofsky grunted, "Waiting for Dad to do the next photographs. Should have known that you'd do the makeup."

"I should have known you'd do the part with criminal applications," Kurt snapped back as the next person, a woman, took her place. Fortunately, she had long hair, which gave him so much more to work with when changing her appearance. He dyed her light brown hair a darker color, cut it to a sharp-edged Vidal Sassoon style look, and then found a pair of hazel-colored contacts that changed her eyes from their original blue-grey but still looked natural. "Try the executive suits, I think those would fit you. If they don't feel comfortable, then try the 70s style maxi dresses."

This time, when she had gone, Karofsky sighed. "Look, what I meant was that you'd do the makeup because you like that sort of performing sh- stuff."

Kurt heard an implicit apology there but wasn't going to bend until there was an explicit one, so ignored the other teen as he started on the last person he had to work with, a man about his father's age. His face was already clearly lined, and Kurt deepened the lines with a darker foundation and brushed a silver frosting dye through his hair, leaving some dark for a salt-and-pepper look. "Try on the sports coats and khakis," he advised.

Karofsky went back to his father who gave him the photographs and left to join Burt and the others. The fugitives had gone and Karofsky's head was bent over a passport he was meticulously creating, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, as Kurt cleaned up his makeup kits and other supplies.

They both froze at the sound of Tank's voice coming over an intercom. "Evacuate. Evacuate now. There is a SWAT team approaching. I repeat. Evacuate now."

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst has started to happen to Burt and Kurt, but Burt learns he has the leverage to get them out.

As the sun started to enter the room, Blaine stirred under the sheets and woke up. He stretched his arms and legs lightly and nestled his face against the blanket, pulling it back under his chin. It was soft and warm and he was warm all through.

There was so much here that he was so thankful for. He would have been happy just being fed and warm and not beaten or made to give anybody sex. But having that and being loved, too, and having these wonderful people to love was more than he ever could have imagined. It was like coming out of a long, cold winter that had felt like it would last forever to the warmth of spring, but now it was the spring that would last. He was basking in every moment and every gesture.

Last night he had been exhausted from the exercises that Dr. Cooper had prescribed and gone to bed almost immediately after dinner. Kurt had gently scolded him for overdoing it, walked him to the door of his room and hugged him. Kurt and the others barely touched him when they hugged him, since the injuries on his back were still healing, but he was able to put his arms around them and hug tightly. He remembered that hug and how, just as he was falling asleep, Burt Hummel had come in and very lightly kissed his hair. The sensation of someone approaching him while he lay in a bed wasn't even frightening any more and he had just murmured a sleepy goodnight as Burt apologized for waking him. As if Burt Hummel would ever need to apologize for anything.

As he'd gotten used to being touched lovingly, he even started to think, just a little, about what it might be like if somebody, if Kurt, were to kiss his mouth. Not that he could ever imagine it really happening, since it was impossible that Kurt would want a mouth or a body that had been used and dirtied by so many people or find his scarred face attractive, but still, he could fantasize about it a little. If it hurt a little to fantasize, it still felt more pleasant than painful to think about. Kurt's lips would be soft and smooth against his, perhaps they'd start with their mouths closed and Kurt would gently deepen it by opening his mouth and Blaine's with it, or perhaps it could be Kurt turning to him with his mouth already parted for Blaine to kiss. It would feel so clean and fresh.

He heard voices from the kitchen and they sounded worried. He got up and went to see what was happening. "I've been trying to call them all night," he heard Carole say.

"Maybe they're out of range?" Finn sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"What's wrong?" Blaine was near panic at how grey her face looked.

"Kurt and Burt aren't back," Finn answered.

"Back from where?" He looked back and forth from Finn to Carole but neither of them looked like they even could answer. He could feel his hands start to shake and he bit his lip. It couldn't be anything bad, nothing bad could happen to them, not to two strong men like that.

Finally, Carole spoke. "They went to help some escaped slaves get out of the country. They should have been back by now, they should have come back hours ago!" Her voice cracked and she buried her face in her hands as Finn, fighting his own tears, stood next to her, awkwardly patting her back.

He couldn't be hearing this, it couldn't be true. They couldn't have been caught. He knew what happened to people who were caught. That couldn't happen to them. It would mean that spring was gone and winter would stay forever, for all of them.

* * *

Kurt hadn't even noticed the stains on his clothing. While they had dragged him to the waiting van, he frantically twisted his head to try to locate his father, in the line of people who were handcuffed like him or the seriously injured or dead who were being piled outside the building. He fought as they pushed him in, but finally saw his dad among the people being brought out. Kurt felt his heart twist in mingled relief and dread. He had been captured, too, but at least he was alive. He let himself be pushed in, then, but turned to plead with them. "My father, he has a heart condition, he'll need his medication. He always carries it, it's in his pocket, a flat box-" They slammed the door shut and the van took off.

Then the thoughts that concern for his father had pushed aside came back. Running with Karofsky. One of the doors opening in front of them. Turning to run the other way, hearing shooting behind them. Another turning into a room where, seeing no exit, they hid, Kurt in a storage closet, Karofsky in another. He had shoved Kurt inside the storage closet himself and piled boxes of paper and other supplies in front of him, hiding him from a quick glance, before hiding himself. They way that he'd look at Kurt as if he was going to say something. Then the sound of the doors opening. Hearing a radio crackle, "Two kids." The realization that they were being hunted for specifically.

It was only one man, though, who was looking for them, but he was thorough. He opened the door where Kurt was hiding first, looked around, and the moment of relief as he didn't seem to notice anything. Then he heard a grunt and the man shoved the stacked boxes to the ground, exposing Kurt.

Kurt saw Karofsky open the closet on the other side of the room. Then, oh, God, it hurt to remember, instead of sneaking out while the officer yanked Kurt out, Karofsky grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, and punched him. "Get out, Fancy," he had growled, even while the man turned his gun on him. Karofsky aimed another punch, there was a shot, and the blood spattering from his chest outward as he fell was bright red. Briefly in the present again, Kurt looked down at his shirt. Kurt had tried to run, as much from the sight as from the need to escape, but had run directly into two other officers, who had handcuffed him and dragged him out.

Karofsky was dead. Karofsky had died for a futile attempt to save him. It didn't make any sense at all. But Karofsky would never be able to explain. Kurt would never be able to ask him why and Karofsky would never explain.

But even those thoughts were easier to think about than the other ones he shoved away as savagely as he could. He stared at his shoes. The leather had a very fine grain. Rachel disapproved of leather. His take was that as long as the cow was dead, why not use the leather? He couldn't approve of animals being raised just for their skin or fur, not like mink. Some of the synthetic furs were very pleasant to touch. They didn't have quite the feeling of real fur, but they were nice to touch. He looked down at his shirt, whose softness felt stiffened in parts. He remembered he'd been keeping himself from looking or thinking about it, about Karofsky's blood on him. That just didn't make sense.

* * *

 

Finn started pacing up and down. "We've got to find them," he repeated, while Carole kept calling person after person, asking if they had seen either Burt or Kurt. She had called every hospital, but every time she looked up the number to call the police, she hesitated. They had been breaking the law and if the police found them with any evidence, she knew what would happen.

She wanted to reassure Finn, who was looking increasingly anguished, and Blaine, who had seemed to shrink on himself, but what could she say? She threw her head back in a moment of despair. They were still young enough to want, even to expect a parent to have all the answers, but too old to be satisfied with the little that she could say.

The doorbell rang and they stared at one another for a moment. Instinct made her act like the prototypical nosy neighbor and draw aside the curtain to see outside first. There was a police car parked outside. Closing her eyes and hoping for strength, she opened the door.

"Mrs. Hudson?" The two officers, a man and a woman, looked at her compassionately as the woman spoke gently. She didn't expect that. "I'm afraid we have bad news. May we come in?"

She stepped aside mutely and was too overcome to speak as both Finn and Blaine rushed to her.

"Are these your sons?"

"They're both mine," Carole said fiercely.

"Perhaps you'd all better sit down."

When they had done so, the male officer spoke. "There was a very serious traffic accident this morning. A vehicle carrying flammable materials crashed. As far as we can tell, the materials weren't secured. There was a terrible fire and traffic pile up. Your husband's vehicle, as far as we can tell, was one of them." She couldn't even feel the hand that he placed on hers, or the boys clinging to her shoulders. "Ma'am, the witnesses say that it would have been over almost instantaneously. He might not even have been aware of the crash. He, well, he certainly wouldn't have seen the fire coming." He added, quietly, "Ma'am, I'm terribly sorry, but we, we may not be able to identify him for certain, but we were able to identify the vehicle."

"What about Kurt?" She heard Finn's voice coming from somewhere.

"I'm sorry? Kurt?"

"His son, my brother. He's a skinny little guy, kind of dark hair.." Finn's voice trailed off as if he were asking if they'd seen him.

"Was he with your dad last night?"

"Yeah, they were out together..."

"Then I'm terribly afraid, son. There were no survivors." Carole felt Finn clinging even harder to her arm and burying his face in her shoulder, while Blaine was as stiff as if the news had turned him into stone. He moved so abruptly when he rose that it startled her; she had thought him immobile.

"Thank you very much for coming, officers. We'll take care of her now." He walked them to the door and closed the door behind them.

"Oh, God," she whispered. "Of all things...a traffic accident." Blaine rushed to her and Finn and crouched at their feet, one hand on Finn's, the other on hers.

"No...no, I'm positive this means they're alive."

"Wait, I don't get it."

"That's one of the things they do. When they sell criminals. If there's anybody in your family, or friends, who would find the money and buy you, they tell them that you're dead and then ship you to another part of the country, maybe even out of the country. It makes the punishment worse. They cover it up in some accident or another, even the local police don't know, in case they have any connection."

"So they could be anywhere?" Her husband and Kurt were somewhere, but she might never know where. She didn't even know whose door to break down to find out. She'd have fought to the death for them, but she didn't even know where the enemy was.

* * *

They'd separated Burt from his son. When he saw the other van heading in another direction, he would have given anything to know where they were taking him. Instead, they were lined up, people came through doing paperwork, confirming identifications with wallets, and people were taken in different directions after that. He asked each person he saw where his son was. Most ignored him, others shrugged or said they had no idea in a tone that said clearly that they didn't care, either. When he was taken away, he pleaded to see Kurt, begged as he had never begged another human in his life. But instead he was taken to a small cell and left there.

He could see Kurt all too clearly, trying to hold his head high, trying not to show any fear, but finally crumbling. What the hell had he gotten his little boy into? He was the one who was supposed to protect Kurt, to keep him safe from every danger, and instead he'd led him right into this.

He had no way of keeping track of time. They'd taken everything he had on him, even his wedding ring. They'd also taken his heart medication but at one point somebody with a clipboard had brought him a dose and watched as he took it, even examining his mouth afterward. He thought that it had been perhaps an hour, but his thoughts were coming so rapidly but repetitively that it could have been several or it could have been no more than twenty minutes.

Finally, the door opened and somebody familiar entered. He groaned as he saw him. "Oh, God, Bill, they've gotten you, too?" He didn't even know that Dr. Meyer had been working with them that night or that it was a larger sweep.

"A long time ago, Burt, I'm afraid." He waited and then added, "I did try to warn you."

Burt was too disgusted and shocked to say anything, and Bill continued. "But at least I was able to delay things long enough that now you've got leverage."

The other man's relieved voice finally sparked Burt into speech. "How could you? You betrayed everything."

"No. I just decided to be realistic. Burt, there hasn't been a single society in history that actually ended slavery. What makes you think that now it could work? Tiny little places like Milan? The Quaker Free Lands in Africa? It didn't take them long to realize that a state that can use slave labor has a lot bigger military budget than one that doesn't."

"We've learned better now." Burt was used to this debate, but not with the man he'd thought his old friend.

"We've learned enough to improve things. But you know what? You're making things worse. We'd have a chance of abolishing child slavery if extremists like you didn't make it all-or-nothing. Hell, people scream their heads off at the idea of paying another half-cent in taxes to cut down the deficit, and the laws are made by the rich and supported by the people who do whatever the rich want because they identify with the rich. They might vote for child slavery abolition or criminalizing killing a slave for no cause, but not if everybody is saying that it's the slippery slope to the government robbing people of everything they own." He drew a deep breath. "But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to get you and Kurt out of here and now you've got the leverage you need."


	7. Chapter 7

Carole believed Blaine entirely. The idea that on the very same night that they were out on a rescue operation, her husband and Kurt had died in a traffic accident could be one of those insane coincidences. But an accident with no bodies to identify, combined with Blaine's explanation, made far more sense. She told herself that it was that, and that her inner certainty that she would have _known_ if Burt was dead, the same way she had known with Christopher, was only corroboration. She couldn't expect Blaine and Finn to keep their hopes up—or to live the nightmare of always wondering—on more than her own perceptions, but she knew what she believed.

Blaine had explained further about where they might be. Disappeared criminals were always sold privately at invitation-only auctions. She remembered how pale but calm Blaine had been as he described the auctions and the processes. Prices were set by skills or attributes, market rarity, and health condition. A mechanic like Burt would be valuable for his skills, but wasn't a rarity and his heart condition required medical observation and treatment. If only they could find him, they might be able to bribe somebody to look the other way or even to purchase him. Kurt would be different. Somebody with his skills would sell for quite a bit no matter what, whether his buyer wanted him for his voice, as a housekeeper, or perhaps even as a stylist, but as a beautiful young man in excellent health, he would sell for even more. They might even sell him outside the country. Blaine's hands and voice shook as he said that even if they found him, they might never be able to rescue Kurt. 

They'd try everything. Finn had left a message with Coach Sylvester, asking her to call him. Maybe she was still in touch with Olivia Newton-John and maybe the singer might know somebody who might help? He kept shaking his head as though he was still trying to wake up.

Rachel's dads were at a legal conference and had promised to go through everybody that they knew. But the ACLU was absolutely powerless against the slavery lobby and human rights and family law attorneys were almost as far removed from the circles of the wealthy and powerful tort and corporate lawyers as she herself was. In Lima, they were something to be reckoned with; in anything bigger, they were practically irrelevant.

She often had to leave the room. She wasn't going to break down in front of her boys. She could see that they were trying to be strong for her and for each other. Instead of saying what he was thinking, Finn sometimes stopped and stared at nothing, while Blaine had become very small and self-contained again, head lowered and making no eye contact.

Finn's phone rang, finally, late that evening. She held her breath as she heard his side of the conversation.

"Thanks, Coach Sylvester."

"Did he say anything?"

"Blaine says he thinks that they might have been taken out of the state. They might even have taken Kurt out of the country."

"Please, anything you can, please, Coach."

"Please, ask her. Anybody else."

"Thanks, Coach. Really."

He looked at them with that same dull stare. "She said she's tried the Governor. He practically admitted that they're still alive but says that it's a high-value property crimes affair so it's in the private tribunal jurisdiction. He couldn't issue a pardon or interfere even if it weren't a security case. He doesn't even have any information." He swallowed. "She's going to try rich people now."

She put her arms around him again and felt him almost shaking with the effort not to break down. "Mom...I just want them back so much..."

"I know, honey." She silently kissed his hair and prayed that whatever he was imagining might be happening to them was easier than the images that were filling her mind. After several moments, he released himself and got up. She followed him with her eyes but understood his need for a few moments of privacy.

 

* * *

"What the hell do you mean, talking about leverage?" Burt would have refused even to listen to Dr. Meyer, but if there was a chance of rescuing Kurt...how could he ever considered it could be right, letting Kurt, at the beginning of his life, join him in this danger?

"You've met more people and you know names. Look, I argued this, and if you can just fill in more of the pieces, they'll let Kurt go and you'll be sentenced just to accessory to theft penalties."

"Blaine got a similar promise and look what happened," Burt snarled. "Was that your idea, too?"

"What happened to that boy was obscene, criminal, and you know that I believe it!" Burt couldn't believe that Meyer was actually indignant. "That boy was entirely innocent of any wrong-doing and it was monstrous that he had to pay for somebody else's crimes." He took a deep breath. "No, I've gotten guarantees." Meyer sat down on the cot, wearily. "Burt, you know that I care about Kurt. You know how every time he was hurt enough at school to need to see me I was just as fighting mad as you were. I would not trick you over this.

"Listen to me, Burt, listen to me. You saw what happened to Blaine. And he was indoctrinated for years to think that he deserved it, that every person who raped or beat him had a right to do it. How do you think owners who treated Blaine like that would treat Kurt?"

Burt fought to keep the words from entering his mind, tried to make them just a noise, but it was impossible. "Yes, it's possible that somebody might buy him only for his voice, or as a cook. But you know how they'd market Kurt. Or who would somebody like that spend enough to compete with the ones who would buy him for sex? The ones who would see his skin and want to bruise it, want to break him, look at that vulnerability and innocence and want to _force_ him to suffer? The kinds of people with the kind of money to buy him and who would buy slaves didn't get that money by being nice about taking what they want. Kurt would be their sickest dream come true."

Burt's hell was that he had to understand and agree. The bullying that had horrified him and which had been so agonizing for Kurt was only the weakest shadow of this. Anybody who would buy Kurt as a slave would surpass those bullies beyond the telling in power, sophistication, imagination, and evil.

Meyer actually put a hand on his shoulder, and even as he shook it off, the contact was almost welcome. It was some form of contact with something other than what he was imagining. And he knew how strong-willed Kurt was. That defiance would be another challenge for whatever kind of moneyed thug would buy him. "This will free Kurt. They only need the names. They already know most of them already, or at least suspect. Nobody can help Kurt unless you do this."

Nothing had hurt more. Not even losing Elizabeth, not even realizing that Kurt had been captured, too. He turned to face the man he had liked and trusted, and said, as firmly as he could, "No."

 

* * *

Carole felt as though her powerlessness was going to kill her. It seemed like a living presence in the room, like some palpable _thing_ that was slowly growing, expanding itself until it would finally crush her.

She could see it pressing against Finn, too. When he thought that he was going to have to give up his dreams to become a father, when he found that his girlfriend had cheated on him with his best friend and lied about his being the father, during the bad times with Rachel, he had always seemed to keep some kind of optimism that something would happen and that it would work out.

Blaine moved mechanically as he took on the day's chores, making meals that she forced herself to eat, bringing drinks that she forced down her throat. She could see that giving himself things to do was helping him to stay balanced, at least as balanced as he could.

"Sweetheart, you look exhausted," she exclaimed, looking at Blaine. "You're still recovering, you know, Blaine, go to bed." She could tell what was on his mind. "I promise, I'll wake you up if we learn anything," and seeing him still unconvinced, played the master card. "They wouldn't want you to get as sick as you were before, you know that." He reluctantly nodded and got up to hug her. The scars on his face seemed darker and deeper from exhaustion and she kissed his cheek.

Alone, she went into the living room to watch the news. She didn't expect anything that would be of any use, but at this point, there was so little information that she didn't dare miss even the possibility. It was nothing but the same coverage of political posturing, celebrity egos on display, and job losses, and she tried not to think of anything, just to watch for anything relevant.

The doorbell rang and she rushed to it. It was late, it couldn't be some random visitor or package. A man she had never seen before stood there. "Excuse me for coming so late, but I'm afraid this is urgent," he apologized. "Does a Kurt Hummel live here?"

"Yes, yes, he does," she began, out of habit. She couldn't help but notice that the man was beautifully dressed and his watch and cuff links must have cost a fortune.

"I believe that he purchased a teenaged boy recently, a dark-haired boy, he's sixteen, is this correct? He might be named Blaine?"

Everything she had been keeping pent up finally burst. "Yes, but now you'll never get near him, I'd rather cut his throat myself than let any one of you ever near him, now get off my property and away from what you have left of my family, you-" He tried to say something but she roared, "Get out of here, now!" She shoved him, hard, and threw him off balance, but then he caught himself and to her rage and disbelief, shoved past her into the house.

"Blaine! Blaine!" His voice sounded almost pained as he shouted, and she paused for just a moment. The door to Blaine's room opened and she yelled to him to get back in there and lock the door, but Blaine didn't even seem to hear her, instead, staring at the man.

"Uncle Peter," he asked, in a tiny, disbelieving voice.

"Blaine? It's really you?" As quickly as the cast on the foot would let him, Blaine was rushing to the man, who was standing stupefied, then held his arms out as he crossed the room to hold him as if he would never let him go.

Finn had heard the noise and come down the stairs, standing at the foot. She still didn't understand what was happening, but gestured for him not to say anything as she watched the two clinging to one another. Blaine was almost burrowing into the man's chest and the man—his uncle?-was holding into him, entirely unabashed, maybe even not aware of the tears flowing freely down his face.

"Blaine, I'm so sorry, so sorry I didn't find you until now."

"You're not angry with me any more?" Blaine looked up at him, suddenly uncertain.

"Angry with you? Why should I be?"

"They said...they said that you and the rest of the family blamed me, that none of you ever wanted to see me any more, that was why you didn't..."

"No, Blaine, who told you that? The police said you were dead, you and your father drowned when the car went into the river. I...I don't know why but I never gave up, not even when divers found what they said were your bodies, I kept hiring detectives to look for you. Blaine, I'm sorry, but your father is dead, he was executed."

"I know, it was my fault, that's why I thought you didn't want to see me or to ransom-"

"What do you mean it was your fault, you were eight, it had nothing to do with you."

"But at the tribunal, they told me that if I testified, they'd let us go...and so I said everything they told me to say, I knew it was all lies...but then they killed him and sold me and told me that nobody in the family wanted to see me ever again because I'd betrayed him..."

"Oh, Blaine, no...no, it wasn't like that at all..." He put his hand under Blaine's chin and raised his face so that Blaine was looking him in the eyes. "They lied to you and to us. None of this is your fault, baby boy, none of it. I've been looking for you ever since." He ran his fingers across the scars. "What happened to you?"

"It's...it was really bad, for a while." Blaine swallowed hard. "But Kurt saved me and...Uncle Peter! You have to help them, please! Kurt saved my life and brought me home and now you have to help him and his father, they've been caught and they're going to be sold or maybe they already are."

"Wait a second, Blaine, tell me from the start." Blaine started to gulp and Carole gently steered them to the sofa.

"I...they sold me to, to people who used me...not just work, but they used me for sex and...the last one told me that he was getting bored with me, if I didn't learn how to be more...enthusiastic, he'd sell me to a brothel...I couldn't, and somebody from one of the houses came to...to look at me...I found a chance to run away before he sold me, but I couldn't go to any of the shelters, I was just hiding and I got sick...the police found me and brought me back to him, that was when he did this..." Blaine raised a hand to his face and his uncle closed his eyes in misery. "They...they tied me up in a trashbag and threw me out, they figured that I'd die but I think somebody secretly sold me to a dealer, I woke up there. I was too sick to sell, after all, so the dealer was going to kill me, he actually had the gun out, but Kurt stopped him and bought me, and he and his family made me part of the family, but now Kurt and his father, they were involved in smuggling slaves out, but they got caught. The exact same thing happened, the police said they were dead, but we guessed it was a lie, and now Kurt and his father are going to be sold, or maybe they already have been..."

Peter had nodded as he held Blaine and listened to the story. "Of course. I'll get the people who found you onto it. I swear I'll help them if it's humanly possible." He met Carole's eyes over Blaine's head. "I've got money, and if money doesn't do it, I came prepared to bring Blaine home no matter what and I'm ready to do anything to help the people who helped him." He got up," I'll tell them outside that I don't need them right away, and then I'll start making calls." 


	8. Chapter 8

Peter Anderson had readily agreed to spend the night, Carole had given him pillows and a blanket for the couch, and Finn and Carole had each gone to their own rooms. But for Carole, the bedroom was too empty. Each creak in the house or other little sound made her think that Burt was coming up the stairs to join her. His feet were always so cold when he first got into the bed and he always made that soft half-grunt, half-sigh as his head hit the pillow and she always rested her hand on his hip, which was so perfectly shaped for it.

Tears leaked from her eyes again as she imagined him awake, thinking of her, missing her, missing their nights together. She was physically longing for him as well, hungry for the intimacy of kisses, hands and lips and eyes absorbing each other, opening entirely to him and feeling him inside her. Was he feeling the same hunger and same despair? Hope could be a terrible thing when it flickered on and off.

There was a tiny, tentative knock at the door; her heart seemed to jump into her throat before she recognized it as a knock and not the door opening. She got up and opened the door. Finn was there, looking even more miserable than he had during the day.

"I wasn't sure if you were awake," he began, and she interrupted, "I couldn't sleep, either, come on in, sweetheart."

"I'm so scared, Mom. I want to try to be strong and keep thinking of ways we can get them back, but it feels like the only thing I'm really doing is missing them and being scared. What if we don't see them again, even with Peter helping us? It took him years to find Blaine. Something might happen to them before we can..." He sat on the bed just like he had when he was younger.

The answer she'd given herself to the same question didn't satisfy her, but it was all she had to offer. "If we don't, we'll find ways to go on. It won't ever stop hurting, it never does, and we'll never forget them or stop wanting them back, but we do go on. I did it after your father died. I could do it and I know that you can, too."

She could see that the words were just as empty to him. "Yeah, but you hadn't lost two people then. We've lost both of them, and that's even worse."

"I wish I could say that it isn't. But then every time I wanted to give up, I looked at you and saw how much you needed me and how you'd just light up when you saw me, you'd grin and hold your arms up. We've still got each other, Finn, and we have friends and other people who care and who will help us. We're never as alone as we feel, sometimes, we just don't always see the people who are around us and loving us and helping us."

* * *

Kurt thought that he had been lonely before, but his isolation at school had been trivial by comparison, a paper cut versus an amputation. Even in the moments when he'd felt doubts about coming out to his father, he knew he had Mercedes; if his dad had kicked him out or rejected him, she would have insisted that he stay with her, encouraged him, wouldn't have let him feel alone. But now his world was confined to a cell and his limited human contact to the people who were preparing him for sale like a groomer might prepare a dog or a horse.

He'd been afraid before, too, when cornered by bullies, but even then, he knew that it would go only so far. But now he was terrified, for himself and for his father. The staff had asked him questions about his medical history. If they asked his dad about his, would they decide that his dad's heart condition meant that he wouldn't be profitable? Had he maybe already been killed for his other organs? At his last checkup, the doctor had said that the rest of him was in good shape, his kidney and liver functions were just fine, his lungs were good. Or had his dad had another heart attack?

Kurt had pleaded for news of his father every time he saw somebody. Most of them just shrugged, one or two bothered to say that he was probably in some other facility.

He was terrified for himself, too. The very best he could hope for was to be the proverbial bird in a gilded cage. But for that, he'd have to pretend to be docile, grateful, and affectionate or even loving. Could he even make himself do that?

Even now, he hated having to pretend to be resigned to what was going to happen to him, to have decided that cooperating was in his best interest. He could tell that he had no realistic chance of escaping from where he was now. The wall of his cell that held the door was a one-way mirror and when they took him out for anything, he saw that there was always a guard walking up and down the long hallway, looking in each cell as he passed. As far as Kurt could guess, it took him about twelve minutes, but even if he found a way out of the cell during the interval, he had no realistic way of finding his way out. But he might find a chance later and he had to keep hoping that and working to it. Right now, that meant making sure that they didn't expect trouble from him.

He knew that he was going to be sold soon. That morning, he'd been brought out to a room where three people were waiting for him, a photographer/make-up artist and two people who were writing a description of him for an auction catalog.

The only things he'd liked about his shape was that it was healthy and could wear couture and for his face, he only liked his complexion. His eyes were too pale, his mouth was too wide and thin, his hips were pear-shaped, and his hair color verged on mousy. Those were the things he saw when he looked in the mirror and let himself be critical.

But the way that they talked to one another about him as they took the photographs and wrote the description was entirely different from his own self-talk. They praised his legs, eyes, complexion, and hair, and after they made him take off his clothing, even the rest of him. They talked about him as though he wasn't an object, except when they gave him an order, "Sit there." "Turn to the right." "Take your clothing off." "Get onto that bed and lie down." "Stop that crying and go wash your face at the sink."

He had to wait in the room while they finished the description and heard them occasionally trying a phrase out loud or working together to get the wording right. Under any other circumstances, he'd have purred like a kitten to hear people saying things like this about him, if he thought that they believed what they were saying. "You'd be hard put to find a more graceful sculpture..elegantly shaped...slender body, pure coloring, eyes more meant to look into than to see with, agile and flexible, as you can see on the videos from his performances...a rarity, sure to become one of your most prized possessions with a delight for every sense." 

Back in his cell, after letting himself cry out his fear and humiliation and anger, he reminded himself that he could do this, he could get through this with his head held high and never resigning himself to being a slave. He had to remember something Carole told him: Sometimes in your life they will piss on you and you can't do much to stop it, but _never_ let them make you believe it's just raining. 

* * *

 

Peter turned over again on the couch. It was perfectly comfortable for a night's sleep, but his thoughts were far less so. He had already called the detective firm and got them onto finding the Hummels and called Monica, his Director of Special Projects, and told her that he'd found Blaine and could even legally bring him back home. He'd need one set of new papers documenting purchases of a father and son, another set of papers for a free father and son, and yet another for two unrelated people. He'd also need her to set up additional funds ready to transfer in case he was able to buy the Hummels openly.

Bless her, she had responded with a heartfelt burst of gratitude, including tears, that he had found Blaine and that Blaine was recovering from his ordeals. She then subjected him to a lengthy scolding that despite her mature beauty and intelligence she was not actually an omnipotent goddess and did he really think that she was capable of doing all that in twelve hours and why did he hate her that he was trying to kill her? She ended by calling him "Mr. Anderson" and added a reminder, in case he needed one, that she only called him that when he was at his most unreasonable. He'd felt tremendous relief at her outburst, since it meant that she was already mentally on the task and talking to blow off tension. She was only silent and non-abusive when she truly thought she couldn't do something. For a woman who had never even had a parking ticket in her fifty-five years of life, she had a remarkable flair for forgery, lies, and plotting.

It was the detective work that worried him. Admittedly, his brother's murder and Blaine's enslavement were political acts and so more covered up than usual, but it had still taken years and several different approaches. There wouldn't be much of a data trail at all since Kurt and Burt Hummel were newly enslaved and slaves were never sold by names, only numbers, which were randomly generated at each point of sale. This allowed for more "discretion" in purchases and protected the buyers' privacy, so nobody would know if a politician who claimed to uphold Christian monogamy regularly purchased nubile youngsters, or if a business leader who said that Buddhist temperance and mercy was his underlying principle in life and business had a high mortality rate among his slaves, or if somebody who publicly condemned child slavery as the fault of religion only bought children.

Still, finding Burt Hummel would be the lesser challenge. As a mechanic, he'd likely be sold for a moderate price locally and might immediately be added to a company's asset sheets. The firm had said that they'd start searching those at once and start other investigations in Ohio and the adjoining states. They were already searching auction online listings and private sale catalogs.

Kurt Hummel would be far more difficult to find, and to Peter's dismay, Blaine had blushed and been flustered when he talked about Kurt, in a way he hadn't when he spoke of Finn, Burt, or Carole. It wasn't just gratitude to the person who had found him and saved him. Peter had guessed early on that Blaine was homosexual and it wasn't hard to imagine him falling for Kurt. But Blaine had already been sexually traumatized and if the same thing were happening now to Kurt, it would only make things even more complicated. It might be poetic to think of them magically healing one another, but it wouldn't ever be that easy in real life.  

His thoughts not allowing him peace, he disentangled his legs from the blanket and walked over to Blaine's door. It was open enough that he could watch him sleeping and as he did so, he reminded himself that no matter what, he'd still found his nephew and that when Blaine had needed it most, he'd found kindness and love.

* * *

 

Burt figured that he should have guessed that hard work would be the only thing about being a slave that kept him sane. A big mechanics chain had bought him right out of the prison and put him in one of their shops. When he'd had financial setbacks in first getting his own shop set up, he'd worked hours just as long. When the work was so complicated that it required all his concentration or he was so physically exhausted that he couldn't think, just fall on his bed in the barracks, that was endurable. He dreaded the slow days when there were periods without work or the times when the work was so routine his thoughts could wander.

He kept second-guessing his decision not to trade information for the promise of getting Kurt released. Part of him kept wishing he had tried. If he had offered to exchange one name for Kurt, somebody older, who didn't have all his life in front of him, would that have been so wrong? But then he reminded himself that whatever the right thing to do might have been, it would have been dumb to trust them.

His boy would be brave, he knew. He had all his mother's courage and Burt liked to think that he'd gotten some from the Hummel side, too. But being brave didn't keep you from being scared and it had never protected anybody from suffering. Every time he thought of his son, he felt every part of him seem to quiver, like a muscle pushed to its greatest efforts, with the hope that Kurt had found a way to escape, If that was too much to ask maybe whoever might own him might see him as a person, not just a useful object that could double as a toy.

He realized that he hoped Carole would find somebody else, somebody who'd come close to deserving her and who would be good to Finn. That didn't help how much he missed her and wanted her. Each morning when he woke up, he mentally replayed the sound of her usual, "Mmmmm, good morning," and the feel of her kiss. He didn't know what he'd do if that were to fade.

Finn would grow up to be a good man. Knowing that helped. Carole would always be proud of him. But he had so much wanted to be there to watch, to cheer Finn on, to be there for him and enjoy how the father-son talks were changing into man talks every time. He never understood the parents who clung to their kids' childhoods and didn't want them to grow up. That was half the joy, but he'd not see it for his Kurt or Finn or Blaine. He hoped that this hadn't undone all the progress Blaine had made. He had to be strong to have survived everything so far, but to get kicked in the teeth again the moment he seemed to start to trust life again...well, Finn and Carole and he had one another. It was his Kurt who was not only suffering, but suffering alone.

The other mechanics, his fellow slaves, weren't too bad. It would have been hard to tell them from any random assortment of men, some good guys, some jerks. They didn't do much talking outside of what was necessary during work, but one of them did notice the time he jerked, dropping his wrench, when he overheard one of the sales guys say, "He got curt but gave in." Something must have shown on his face, since one of the other mechanics looked surprised and raised an eyebrow.

"That's my kid's name," Burt muttered, "Kurt." He hadn't expected his voice to shake.

"Shit, man." It wasn't quite an expression of sympathy, but it was close.

"Yeah." Burt picked the wrench up and got back to work, his lips pressed tight. At least this one was a complicated job.

One of the suits walked into the work area. "Hummel, out front now." He put the tools down and followed him, wondering but not caring much what this was about. Two men in suits were talking at what had to be the front door. He thought he recognized one as a supervisor but the other was a stranger.

"You're Burt Hummel, right?" He nodded, briefly. The supervisor continued to the other, "That's it, then. Pleasure to meet you." He held out a hand to shake but the stranger ignored it and instead said to him.

"My car's outside. I just paid for you." That was an odd way to put it, but Burt followed him outside, more confused when the man held the door for him.

The moment the door closed behind them, the man looked at him and smiled."I'm Peter Anderson. Blaine's my nephew. Your wife and Finn are waiting for you." He chuckled, "Or not, as the case may be," seeing two figures running across the parking lot.

Carole was first and her arms around him and her voice in his ears was better than he could have dreamed. When he raised his head from her shoulder and opened his eyes again, he saw Finn was practically dancing from foot to foot in his impatience, but trying to hold back to let them have their moment. Not letting go of Carole, he choked out, "C'mere, kid," and felt Finn almost crushing both of them. This was really Carole and Finn, it was really their arms around him, it was really her hair against his face, it was really the sound of their laughing and crying at the same time.

He finally pulled back enough to ask, "How?" He wasn't able to make out more than that but Carole understood. "Peter had been looking for Blaine for years. He finally tracked him here, and he promised that he'd have the same people find you and Kurt."

"So he's found Kurt? Is he all right?"

She lowered her eyes. "Not yet. There are a few good leads, though."

Peter came over, hearing the conversation. "There are five sales that they're investigating. One in New York, there's also Dubai, Zurich, London, and Hong Kong. They're almost positive that it's not Hong Kong but they're still checking. I also have them looking for any private transactions. There are a lot of good people from different backgrounds all doing their best."

Burt wasn't going to say what he was thinking in front of Carole and Finn. If it took years to find Blaine, could it take the same time to find Kurt? What might have happened to him in that time? Would he even be alive? They started walking through the parking lot, both Carole and Finn still hanging onto him, and Blaine joined them from where he'd been hanging back a little. Burt grabbed him for a hug, noticing that he looked thinner and more subdued than before, even if he was obviously happy to see him back.

Blaine joined Peter in the front seat so that Finn and Carole didn't have to let go of Burt. Burt blinked, "It's a dumb question, but where are we?"

"Illinois, actually," Carole answered. "We'll drive to Chicago and fly back home."

The back seat felt like Finn's legs were everywhere, and Finn and Burt were big enough that he was practically in Carole's lap. But the tangle of arms and legs and hips was only one person short of perfect.

The traffic into Chicago was a mess and often at a complete standstill. Finn actually fell asleep with his head drooping onto Burt's shoulder. "It's been tough on him," Carole murmured sympathetically. "He's not been able to sleep, he kept waking up with nightmares about you and about Kurt."

He squeezed her hand. "I never stopped thinking about all of you. I want to get old with you and watch our boys grow up..." He wanted Kurt there so much he could almost hear Kurt either saying something totally sappy just like he had, or rolling his eyes and saying something about how he could possibly want to see Finn grow any more. He squeezed his eyes in the pain that was ripping at him even now, and breathed in her quiet understanding.


	9. Chapter 9

While Kurt had no idea what the time really was, it seemed like very early morning when two people came into his cell and shook him awake. He was barely alert enough to register that they were wearing lab coats and were packing packets of syringes and different small bottles.

"What's that?" he asked, as one of them said, "Lift your right arm." He did so, repeating the question.

"Botox. Can't have you sweating tomorrow and smelling bad." She neatly wiped his arm with a sterile pad the other gave her and injected something in his armpit. "Other arm."

"Wait, what?" He fought the urge to panic. It sounded like he was going to be sold.

"Other arm." He automatically did so, also letting them inject his hands.

"Tomorrow?"

"Sale day. I've got ten bucks riding on you getting more than 200 K, so don't disappoint me," she said breezily as he sank back in shock. He had to keep control of himself. He had to keep acting resigned but keep looking for any chance of escape.

Food came at the usual time but he was too nervous to eat. About an hour later, the door opened. One of the guards came in, snapped a different metal band around his wrist, not removing the other, added handcuffs, and pulled him out to the corridor. He saw other people, mostly his own age, some a few years younger, being led out, all looking equally alarmed, or crying, or trying to look nonchalant.

"No talking. Move," another guard ordered, and they started following. After a few moments, Kurt could hear a plane nearby. He felt terrified as he saw the big doors open and they were led onto a tarmac. There was no chance to run anywhere; the space was wide open with no concealment and there were guards watching everything closely, standing far enough away from the line of teens and tweens that even if an unexpected move surprised them, they would still have plenty of time to react. They were led one by one onto the steps into the plane, where their irises were scanned again and another guard used some kind of cutter to remove the first metal bands from their wrists.

"No talking," another guard reminded them as they were assigned to seats and the seatbelts automatically stretched around them. There were screens set up between each seat so that they couldn't see one another. Kurt was surprised that the windows were uncovered but glad of it as they put him in an aisle seat. At least he could look at something, while wondering where they were going. If they kept the windows uncovered, he might even get a clue of where.

He had to face the fact that this plane was taking him further away from his family and Blaine, but he had to keep the hope alive of coming back to them. Somehow.

Kurt was able to see the ground become more distant and finally disappear as the plane rose through and then above the clouds. He compressed his lips and blinked furiously to keep from crying as it made his situation even more real. He was flying away from his dad, from Finn and Carole, from all his Glee friends, and from Blaine. He was flying away from his family, the life he'd known, and from the boy it was finally safe to admit he'd fallen in love with.

He'd fought the realization but it was impossible. But while he couldn't hide his feelings from himself, he had to keep them hidden from everybody else, especially Blaine.

So many people had used him that Blaine might never welcome any physical desire directed at him. While now all of Kurt's fantasies were only of holding hands and soft kisses and holding one another, he knew that they would be the prelude to wanting more, wanting something that at best, could only disturb whatever peace of mind Blaine had finally achieved.

He had also been more afraid of Blaine accepting advances than refusing them. He knew that Blaine, starved for half his life of giving or receiving love, loved him whole-heartedly, as he loved Finn, his dad, and Carole. But Kurt knew that it was rooted in gratitude, even if it had grown beyond that. Kurt had found him, saved his life, and brought him to a place where he was loved and safe. If he ever admitted his love to Blaine, or even showed enough for Blaine to guess, it might be gratitude, even unconscious gratitude, that would direct Blaine to accept Kurt. And Kurt realized that he'd grown up enough to want Blaine's love to be given freely and without any constraint, or not at all.

He wasn't even sure if Blaine was even gay, though he'd noticed Blaine noticing male actors or athletes on the television with the same kind of appreciation that he did, or that Finn gave to female actors or athletes. But then, the looks had been almost furtive, maybe that meant that Blaine was mentally categorizing them as better or worse to be made to have sex with. After all, four of his five "owners" had been men, so maybe that was the factor.

At any rate, it didn't matter now because he had to admit that he might not ever see Blaine again. Kurt found himself wishing that he were wrong, that there was a God, that there was a Paradise or some kind of existence after death, and that it was enough of a place of love and compassion that he'd see Blaine and his family again there. Whoever created it, though, would still have a lot of questions Kurt Hummel expected to get answered.

But at least now he could think about Blaine and about being in love with him and wanting him. About his quick smile, the affection that shone in his eyes, how a sudden enthusiasm could make him practically quiver with excitement, how his timidity grew so quickly into trust, and the resilience he possessed that had made him only wary, not bitter or vindictive against people in general or even the world that had treated him with so much cruelty. Not that it was just that. Blaine had recovered into a remarkably good looking young man, scarring or no, but Kurt knew that he'd have fallen for Blaine even if he'd been left as physically ugly as his experiences.

If he couldn't be the one, he hoped that somebody else might find and love Blaine. Somebody who would appreciate him and deserve him, who would be gentle and patient and loving, who would give Blaine the first experience of making love. Somebody who would understand his quiet courage and always be there at his side replenishing it. If he thought that Blaine could have that, he'd be able to endure whatever happened to him more easily. Maybe that was what it meant when people said that they felt like two halves of the same whole. The thought of Blaine safe, loved, and happy would be his own source of strength.

* * *

"Peter Anderson." Finn caught his breath as Peter's phone rang. Sometimes the calls were other business, but over the past days, most of them had been about finding Burt or Kurt.

"It's Monica. It's definitely not Hong Kong. Min bribed the printer out of the final proofs for the catalog. Adult skilled workers only. Nothing's final about the Dubai sales but Stephen heard from three sources that it's likely to be 90 percent women and girls. London seems to be the most likely now, Jan thinks."

"Why's that?"

"Sotheby & Erdene's just flew two jets out of New York. LaNita's been filming as many of the loadings as she can without breaking cover and one of them is mostly teens and young adults, There was a tentative match, 33 percent match, on the facial identification."

"That's not very close."

"Agreed. And the one they think is a match is a side angle and so blurry the human eye can't make out anything. But after that daylight liberation raid on an auction yesterday in Geneva, the industry analysts are saying they don't think any of the auction firms will hold any more high insurance risk sales anywhere in Switzerland for a while, so Zurich seems less likely."

Finn could tell Peter was thinking hard. "Pull everybody out of Hong Kong. Put most of them on London if it's not too late to bring new people on. Mehmet's handling Dubai well enough with the team he has since he's on the invitation list. If it is too late to bring new people onto London, put them on the wildcard possibilities." He paused, then looked over his shoulder at Burt, Carole, and Finn. "Burt, I've got a passport for you. Finn and Carole, you still have yours, right? I'd rather fly directly to London from O'Hare than head back to Ohio. Now that we don't have to worry about Hong Kong, London is closer to the other two anyway. Does that work for you?"

"Anything that's closer to finding my son." Finn nodded in agreement to Burt's impatient answer, not that he thought that Peter was asking him. Carole added, "I've got Finn's and my passports in my bag."

After about two hours, they were waiting for a flight. Finn was a bit embarrassed at how Burt and his mom were holding onto one another. They weren't making out or anything, they were just holding hands and looking at one another, but it was so intense that he felt awkward. But then, it as pretty cool the way that they were obviously communicating and not just "I love you, I'm so happy to be back with you," but a lot more. It was also "hang in there, I hate having to wait like this, keep telling me it will be all right, it will be all right, I promise I'll love you forever, I was so near to giving up but I kept loving you and thinking about you, if you need to let go for a minute I've got you," and a lot more, back and forth between them. He guessed that it was more cool than embarrassing, but not by that much.

He looked over at Blaine, who was dozing in the seat with his jacket under his cheek as a pillow. He and Blaine had sometimes slept together in Kurt's bed downstairs. He'd gone down there one night when he couldn't sleep at all and he and Blaine had nearly scared one another to death, since Blaine was half-asleep in Kurt's bed. Blaine had admitted that this was the third night and that it helped him miss Kurt a little less. Finn had asked if it was okay to join him and Blaine smiled sadly with an understanding expression and moved over. It was a tight fit but they managed. Finn had confessed about his nightmares about Kurt and Burt. Blaine had said that it was his imagination when he was awake that was the worst, that he almost never remembered his dreams, except for the one about his father when Kurt had found him.

Finn woke up in the middle of that night hearing Blaine murmuring Kurt's name, again and again. It sure sounded like he wasn't just saying Kurt's name as a friend or a kind of brother, either. Finn didn't want to tell him about it since it seemed like either violating the guy's privacy or rubbing it in that if he was in love with Kurt, he might not ever see him again. He couldn't imagine something like that happening with Rachel, not only never seeing her again but never knowing what happened to her. It had to hurt a lot, especially since Blaine knew what being somebody's slave was like.

Peter's phone buzzed and he looked at the screen and answered it impatiently. "Yes?"

"So then it's London. Good. We're headed there. Good thing you got me on the list. Yes, keep people on Dubai, just in case."

"Thanks again, Monica."

Burt leaned forward. "Well?"

"Vogel and Partners, the Zurich firm, just had their website hacked, probably competitor sabotage. The entire database for the sale, sources, reserve prices, everything, was leaked onto a dozen or so websites and no slaves at all. So the odds are very, very good that it's London, since Dubai seems out."

* * *

 

The steady roar of the plane and his own anxieties had sent Kurt to sleep rather than keeping him awake as he had thought. As he woke up to the sense of a sudden change, he looked out the window and gasped. It looked like they were finishing crossing either an ocean or a huge lake, since he could see an expanse of water that was endless on all sides but one, where it looked like there were mountains. The change that had awakened him was the slow descent of the plane. He felt sweat break out on all of his body, except his armpits and hands.

Whatever was going to happen would happen soon. He repeated to himself everything that he knew he had to keep in mind. Keep watching for any chance to escape. Look for every possible exit. Don't let yourself panic and run unless the odds are in your favor. Don't let them see you looking. Act like you've resigned yourself. Don't give them any cause to keep an eye on you.

He repeated these to himself as he saw the mountains in the distance become more distinct and the plane descended towards a small runway.

As they were taken off the plane, he noticed that the guards and suits both seemed unusually tense. _Great, that won't help at all._ One girl, perhaps fourteen or so, with stunning red-gold hair in a long braid, hesitated, biting her lip as she got into the bus that had pulled up next to the plane, and the guard grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her on, shaking her, "What do you think you're doing, you little bitch?" Kurt couldn't help noticing how many of his fellow prisoners were unusually attractive, from the boy his age with the almost stereotypical curly blond choirboy looks to the black young woman with an hourglass figure and limbs so beautifully shaped they seemed graceful even in stillness to the girl whose glossy black haircut, pale face, and wide eyes emphasized her Betty Page face and figure.

Two of the suits were talking up at the front of the bus, grumbling to each other. He strained to listen and could hear them complaining about some kind of risk and about how something had been rescheduled "just because some asshole big time buyer had thrown his weight around like logistics are nothing."

Another girl, one whose build and coloring reminded him of Santana but who had huge green eyes, was put into the seat next to him. They quickly made eye contact and both tried to smile at the other. She pressed her leg against his in what he could tell was no come-on, but an attempt at contact, and he returned the pressure. They exchanged quick, shaky smiles again and he drank in the warmth it provided as the bus left the airport.

He was fairly sure that he'd guessed their location from the lake and mountains and his guess was confirmed by the sign that read Zurich: 74 km.

 


	10. Chapter 10

The new guards that came onto the bus to replace the previous ones spoke French, so at least Kurt could make out a little of what they were saying. Unfortunately, it wasn't helpful or even encouraging, and that was assuming that he was understanding correctly. There was quite a lot about stubborn idiots, extra security, pigs of bombers interfering in decent people's livelihoods, people too pig-headed to reschedule or move, and millions of euros. The part about extra security was the most discouraging, but none of it sounded good. It's the ones who questioned themselves, or even saw themselves as not always being good or right that were most likely to stop what they were doing, whether it was opposing legislation that allowed slaves some protection or owning a freeable slave. Only somebody who can identify with the powerless can see them as equal rather than lesser beings.

Those thoughts brought Kurt's mind back to Blaine. That was what made Rachel's idea about a documentary such a good one. Blaine looked like he'd have been such a normal kid, the kid next door you'd have played with or been glad to see your own kid playing with, then the nice boy you'd be glad to see your sister or daughter date. If he could end up as a slave through no fault of his own, didn't that mean it could happen to anybody?

Maybe, maybe if Blaine and Rachel continued the documentary, maybe it would be a success, enough that wherever he ended up, whoever bought him, he'd hear of it, hear another voice say Blaine's name, even see an image of his face. He doubted that whoever owned him or associated with his owner would speak of him kindly, but it would be an instant of hope. If he was able to escape, even if he never made it back home or to wherever Blaine might be then, it would be even better.

The bus slowed after turning into the parking lot of some kind of complex and Kurt tried to memorize every detail of the buildings, doors, and loading docks.

They were ordered out of the bus one row at a time and one of the building's guards patted down each person in turn before they were taken inside. When Kurt and nine others were taken out, he wanted to ask the guard exactly why he thought that the girls' breasts required such a thorough searching, but knew it wouldn't accomplish anything except perhaps make the guard remember him. He hadn't even let himself say anything to the girl who sat next to him, who wasn't in this group, and hoped that she had remained silent for the same reason, not for fear.

Still in the same groups of ten, they were led to a kind of dormitory, where they were told sit on the cots and given sandwiches and bottled water. The water was already opened and Kurt wondered what kind of security measure that was, but couldn't figure it out. When they finished, they were ordered to wash their faces and brush their teeth at the nearby sinks, then get into the cots. Again, Kurt wanted to say something sarcastic but had to remind himself that it wasn't worth it. He was suddenly sleepy enough that he suspected the opened water bottles contained some kind of sedative. It couldn't be a strong one or they'd have been more cautious about dosages, he thought, but then fell asleep before he could finish surveying the room for another exit.

Kurt woke up in the morning to bright lights, the sound of yelling, and a horrible taste in his mouth. They were ordered to shower and wash their hair. Kurt tried to tell himself that this was just to keep them from looking so horribly greasy that the sight of them would make anybody other than high school boys disgusted, but the luxury-level soap, shampoo, and conditioner in the tiny, industrial showers made the other conclusion far too clear: Today was the day they were going to be sold.

This was confirmed when they were given another round of sandwiches, but this time still-sealed bottles of water, and then led to a room that looked like a beauty salon. His hands began to shake as he was led to a chair and a woman studied his face and then styled his hair, plucked a few stray eyebrows, and then did a quick but expert job on concealing the circles under his eyes. She looked at him again and then applied a very subtle lip gloss. When she gestured for him to get up, he was shaking too badly to do so. She sighed impatiently and signaled to a man who was standing and watching. "This one is severe," she told him and he removed a syringe and little bottle from the counter before coming over.

He looked Kurt up and down, muttered to himself, "About 50 kilos." He cleaned Kurt's arm with an alcohol pad and Kurt began to plead, "No, please, don't drug me, I can calm down, please, no drugs, please." The man ignored him as if he were nothing but a kitten mewing before getting its shots and proceeded. At first Kurt felt nothing but his panic continuing to increase, but then felt a sudden groggy detachment, as if he'd just been awakened from a strange dream. It seemed like he was watching somebody else being put into a very short pale wheat-colored silk robe, so thin it was translucent, and led through a back hallway, into a service elevator, and then into a hall about four times the size of the McKinley gym, but with a thick, soft carpet underneath, chandeliers, and ornate, gilded mirrors on the walls. It looked like the standard luxurious hotel ballroom from any glamorous movie, except that the room was filled with large, semi-closed booths. Each booth had several photographs attached to it, and it wasn't until he was led to one featuring his own photographs and pushed lightly onto a green watered silk chaise that he realized this was the actual sale place.

The woman in the booth with him looked him over and then continued to look into space, occasionally checking the time on her phone. After what seemed like another half hour, he heard a general stirring and a few minutes after that, somebody came into the booth and started to examine him with a buyer's eye, touching his hair and face and skin.

The woman was all charm with the potential buyers, speaking at least six different languages that he could make out, offering them additional details that he didn't even know that the sellers knew about him, that he'd been a cheerleader once, or confirming details from the catalog description, including that he was not only a virgin but had almost no sexual experience. She told one buyer, "It is rare to find somebody this pretty who is not only virginal but so timid, so shy, but then, fortunate for you, is it not? You could shape him into whatever you please, he is so unformed yet." A few of the buyers went to far as groping at his groin, but she stopped them with an almost impish smile, "Oh, I understand the temptation, but wait until this charmer is yours, after the auction, if you please."

Some of them seemed gentler than others, while others terrified him, even in this strange, detached state. One man looked at him with such cold, even hate-filled eyes, even while he was running his hand down Kurt's side, that Kurt found himself shuddering away. When he saw that this brought a smile to the other's face, he decided that this man was the exception, that if his man bought him, he would try to kill himself rather than endure whatever he had to until he had a chance to escape. Another had come into the booth after a brief lull during which Kurt had closed his eyes and rested for a moment, and had even said very quietly to the woman, "I'll come back," but Kurt had jerked to alertness at the sound of his voice. He'd even made himself smile shyly at the man, in the hopes that somebody like this would be easier to escape from. As the man looked at the written description again, the woman said, "This one has such a sweet, pleasing nature, a little kindness would win him entirely, isn't that so, Kurt?" Even in his drugged emotional tumult, Kurt had to fight his instinct to roll his eyes, and instead looked away diffidently. When the man put a hand under Kurt's chin to turn his face back, Kurt forced a timid but trusting expression and another shy smile when the man stroked his cheek lightly. He wasn't in any state to make new plans, but he was still clear-headed enough to keep to the existing one.

An announcement came over movie theater quality speakers, in several languages before English. "Ladies and gentlemen, the preview will be closing in ten minutes."

* * *

Finn was trying hard not to watch Burt and Carole cuddling on one of the beds, since he was positive that there was tongue going on and hands where parent hands just shouldn't be. Instead, he looked out the window or flicked on the television. He'd thought that England only had the BBC, so it was pretty neat that there were lots of channels, even if he was too restless to watch them much. Blaine was curled up in a chair reading, but looking kind of restless, too. Peter was reading email on his laptop, it looked like, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention, either. His phone rang and as he saw who it was, his expression changed to deep concern and grew even grimmer as he answered with an abrupt, "What is it?"

"What do you mean, Zurich?"

"So we fell for a honeypot." Finn had no idea what that meant, but it sounded bad.

"All right, get as much information as you can, follow whoever it is, keep on it. We'll be there as soon as we can."

Peter turned the phone off and then said, heavily, "He's in Zurich after all. What we hacked into was fake data, meant to be hacked. The sale is going now and security is so tight that my person there couldn't even get in."

"What do we do now?" Blaine asked, the first of them able to speak again.

"Monica's got us the fastest flight she can, a private one to Zurich. It'll get us there in three hours. There are some other people flying there from Geneva, they'll be there in about an hour." He looked absolutely defeated, nothing at all like the confident, powerful businessman he'd always seemed before.

"Uncle Peter," Blaine almost whispered. "It's not your fault."

"Except it is. I failed you, Blaine, and now I've failed Kurt, too." He looked at them, bleakly. "We'd better go. There's still some kind of chance."

* * *

There was a break of about an hour between the preview end and the beginning of the auction, Kurt estimated. They stayed in the booths and one more person came to look at him, maybe somebody they let in late, but otherwise, the only thing that happened was the stylists coming by and redoing the concealer around his eyes and the only thing that marked time was the tiny snaps of glossy paper as the woman flipped the pages of her magazine.

Announcements came through to bring in various lots, and at "Please bring lots 51 to 75," she got up and led him to a room just outside the ballroom where, he waited until he was brought onto a platform and could see all the bidders. It looked like a UN assembly, he thought to himself, mostly men, a few women, in formal attire of several nations.

"Pre-registered bids have already met the reserve for Lot 67, a 17-year-old male, so the bidding will start at 250,000 euros. Please tender your bids in increments of 5,000 euros." He tried to convert that in his head to dollars and was furious at how much money he would be making for all the monsters involved in the trade. Even if he escaped, no, _once_ he escaped, they still would have made money from his enslavement. He was too agitated to track the bidding and couldn't even see clearly into the audience as he heard the price rise again and again, while his anger did the same.

He fought tears of anger and fear while the bidding continued and when it ended, at almost 400,000 euros, he walked off, head still high. They wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing him afraid or of having drawn tears from him.

After what seemed another interminable waiting period, he was brought over to two men, both heavy but in very expensive suits. The woman from the booth smiled charmingly. "Enjoy your purchase, gentlemen, and please remember us for next time." One of them grunted a "Thank you" and took him by the wrist in a strong, almost bruising grip. There was nothing sexual about it or in the way that they looked at him and Kurt wondered what was going on. They took him out to a waiting limo and pushed him in when he hesitated.

They spoke to one another occasionally in a language that he couldn't identify and ignored him. He felt more rage and fear building up. Not even a word to him to say who they were, not a name, nothing, as though he were an inanimate object or an animal. One of them took a call and answered in English. "Yes, 450 with the buyer's premium. Well within the budget."

"I'm sure that he will agree now, not only the five million in ready and untraceable cash but a sweetener of the kind he likes most. We show him the boy and the money and he'll be more than ready to sign."

"We've been through this before. If he doesn't, we give the boy to somebody else, sell him again, keep him around for special hospitality, it doesn't matter, he's not going to be a loss."

So that explained it. He was part of a bribe package. He kept looking out the window at the other cars on the highway, blinking away the blurs each time his tears returned.

* * *

Carole watched as Peter kept looking at the bottle of whiskey that was held securely on a shelf by netting. She knew what it was like to want that drink to take the edge of things, to feel like less of a failure, to feel less alone because the alcohol never judged you. She understood both the way that Burt couldn't look at Peter and that Peter was wrong to blame himself so entirely for a mistake that could have been worse. They were still on Kurt's trail.

It was breaking her heart all over again. Blaine was quietly hugging himself, head lowered. The poor boy was the only one who actually knew what being enslaved was like and the knowledge had to be agonizing. She knew how much Blaine loved Kurt with all of his sincere heart and sometimes wondered if it was more than that. That would torture him even more, if he were in love with Kurt.

When they landed, Peter's phone rang again. "Yes?"

"Already?"

"Of course." She saw Peter relax a little and gripped Burt's hand.

"Thank you, Genevieve." He turned to them. "We're closer. They don't know exactly who it is, but the Geneva people were watching the parking lot and are following the car of the people who bought him. The car is alone and as soon as they have enough reinforcements join them, they'll get him out of there.

* * *

When the car slowed to a stop, Kurt's dread made his earlier experiences with bullies seem calm. His stomach lurched and if he had had anything in it, he would have vomited. The two men looked at one another in surprise and one asked a question to which the other shrugged.

A police officer opened the door and swiftly yanked Kurt out, holding his arms behind his back. One of the men barked, first in French and then in English, "You cannot do that, the boy is the property of his Excellency the Ambassador!"

"His Excellency, I assume, would prefer that his property not explode and kill him," the officer rejoined tartly. "We have reason to believe that this boy is one of ten who were placed deliberately in the auction with implanted bombs." As he continued to hold the bewildered Kurt, another officer, a woman, came over to scan Kurt with an electronic wand, returning several times to his stomach area.

"It's inconclusive, sir, but there may be something in his abdominal cavity," she told a third who was wearing a suit. "We will need to take him for an MRI."

"Or make him confess here and now, eh?" said the one who was holding Kurt, shaking him. "It will go better for you if you do, that I can tell you."

"I...I don't understand, I..." Kurt didn't know what to say or even what he wanted, which situation would make it easier to escape.

The female officer put a hand on the other officer's arm. "Stop it, he may be telling the truth. My name is Lucie, yours is Kurt, is it not?" He nodded. "Tell me, did you have any operations over the last week, even something minor, or were you ever unconscious?"

"This is wasting time," the other growled, "We take him for the MRI now, find out one way or another, and then either give the wretched boy back to His Excellency or find out a great deal more from him."

The one of Kurt's buyers who seemed to be in charge compressed his lips but nodded. "We will go with you to the nearest hospital and then end this farce."

"No, I'm afraid you cannot come, we must take him to a secret location, very secure, you understand?" The man wearing the suit smoothly moved between Kurt and the buyers. "I will give you an official receipt, of course, and will inform His Excellency immediately of the status of his rightful property." The two exchanged displeased looks but did not appear to wish to argue the matter.

The officer who was still holding him dragged Kurt over to the middle one of the three black SUVs and pushed him in. A petite woman on the seat next to him took his hand the moment the door slammed behind him and the officer who had shoved him got into the driver's seat and turned around to smile at him, an open, friendly smile. "You are safe now, Kurt, and with friends. I am Genevieve, by the way. We will now drive like bats out of hell and in about fifteen minutes, join your family. Your papa, now, wants to talk to you." She dialed a number on her cell, "Peter? We have him. Now let him speak with his papa."

Kurt wondered if he had entirely lost his mind or if he had been drugged again and was hallucinating. If he was safe, and his father was on the phone, that meant he was safe, too...He weakly took the phone and asked, "Dad?"

"Kurt? Kurt, oh, my God, it's you, Kurt, are you all right?"

"Dad? It's really you? How..." He was crying openly now and so was his father.

"Kurt, we're here in Zurich, we'll join you in just a few minutes. Kurt, son..."

They weren't able to speak any more for crying, but Kurt was still holding the phone so tightly that his hand was hurting. He could hear Finn and Carole in the background, and at one point he even thought that he heard Blaine.

"Only five more minutes, now," Genevieve said, patting his knee. After a few more minutes, the car turned into a nondescript office building parking lot. "Now, Kurt, in case anybody is watching, Philippe will pretend to be rough with you again and push you into the other car, but try not to bear a grudge or to hurt him too much, he is underneath a rather nice man."

"Despite the influence of certain women," he growled and she laughed happily.

Kurt didn't care in the least about anything else, because when Philippe dragged him from the SUV to a black car, again with tinted windows, he pushed him into his father's hug.

* * *

Blaine watched from the front seat as Burt and Kurt clung to one another, almost crushingly tight. He wanted, more than almost anything, now that Kurt was safe and back with them, to be back there and holding onto Kurt as well, but they were his family, and he knew that it would be a bad idea to stop, just on the off-chance that they might be followed. Soon, Finn and Carole were hugging Kurt tight, too, in one complicated back seat mass of arms and backs. Then Kurt awkwardly reached around the back of the seat and scrabbled for Blaine's hand. Blaine squeezed it hard in his, and for a moment was glad that he couldn't come into closer contact, or he never would have been able to let go.

At first it was just the sound of names and crying and little exclamations, but soon Kurt asked, ″How did you find me?″ in a little voice that shook Blaine. Of course, he knew that Kurt had to have been scared, but somehow this evidence of it went straight to his guts. He'd never seen Kurt actually frightened. Even when he and Burt left the house that last night, Kurt had taken the time to dress for the occasion and adjusted his cap in the mirror on the way out the door. But Kurt even sounding like he'd touched that point of absolute terror seemed so wrong.

He hated, too, seeing Kurt wearing that horrible robe that was intended to emphasize his near-nudity even more than real nakedness would have. He knew they'd have made him wear something like that and how much Kurt would have hated it. He hastily passed Kurt the loose, long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants that he'd picked out and packed for him. They'd also be easy for Kurt to get into while they were in the car. Kurt thanked him with a quick smile of appreciation.

″Peter, Blaine's uncle, he tracked Blaine to you,″ Carole answered Kurt's question as he pulled the clothing on, her voice still shaking. ″He did everything to find you and Burt, too. Burt was easier, but...for a while we were so scared...″

Burt was holding Kurt almost in his lap and, clearing his throat several times, asked the question that had been digging into Blaine's mind like a set of claws. ″Did anybody...hurt you?″ From the look of pain on his face and the way that he held Kurt, Blaine knew what he was really asking, and Kurt seemed to understand as well.

″No,″ he shook his head. ″It was so close, though...″ Blaine closed his eyes in relief. Nobody had done _that_ to Kurt, nobody had violated him like _that_. Burt was holding Kurt so protectively and so close and Blaine knew it had to be lessening the horror.

Kurt sought out Uncle Peter's eyes in the mirror. ″I...thank you. You saved my dad, and me...thank you.″

His uncle smiled at him. ″I'm still the one in your debt, Kurt. You saved Blaine's life and you, all of you, gave him a family when he didn't have anybody.″

Kurt opened his mouth to say something else, but when he hesitated, Peter filled the awkward silence with practical details. They were almost at the Italian border and Italy would be a safe refuge, at least for a while. Italy and Switzerland were feuding again over extradition issues and Italy would, if anything, take great pleasure in refusing to investigate a theft. There was also a fairly active anti-slavery movement, and Peter had taken the precaution of making a large donation before their arrival.

Crossing the border into Italy was easy. During the last few miles to the border, Kurt memorized the details of his passport and their family story. His name was Daniel Wilson and he was traveling with his adoptive parents Jack and Lisa and his brother Frank. They'd met their parents' old college friend Tom and his son Terry for a once-in-a-lifetime chance to watch the Formula One live when Tom's company gave him free tickets for the event in Monza. They'd come through Geneva because Carole had always wanted to see the lakes and the flights worked out cheaper that way, anyway. As it turned out, the borders officials seemed supremely uninterested in them.

Once across, he used the GPS to find a hotel although it took a few tries to locate one with vacancies. Booking anything in advance might have indicated their direction. ″Only two rooms available, but they can take in the six of us.″

Blaine kept looking back at Kurt, who was sandwiched between Finn and Burt, Carole resting her head on Burt's other shoulder. He still looked drawn, even haunted, but at least he seemed to understand that this was real, that he was safe. Blaine remembered how he and his uncle had felt almost compelled to be in physical contact or at least in constant sight of one another during the first few days after they'd been reunited as a family. That contact had been almost like some kind of background music, constantly reassuring each other that this was real, that nothing had broken the loving bonds between them. His uncle had moved in with him and his father after his mother had left and he had been almost like another father, so the bond was almost as strong as Kurt's and his dad's.

Burt was telling Kurt his own story since they'd been separated. He emphasized that nothing terrible had happened to him. Blaine felt a tension that he hadn't even realized he was still holding release when Kurt remarked, snarkily, that Burt's experiences had been the kind that slavery advocates held up as indications of how slavery kept the criminal classes industrious and productive and wasn't all that bad an experience. Kurt's voice was still shaky and he was still holding onto his father and brother, but at least he was still sharp-tongued and quick to be sarcastic.

When they got out of the car at the hotel, Blaine couldn't help smiling so widely his face hurt when Kurt put his arms around him. It was slower than the way that he and his father, Carole, or Finn had grabbed for one another, but felt no less intense. ″Blaine,″ Kurt whispered, ″I thought I'd never see you again.″ It was so good to hold him, to hear that Kurt had thought about him, to feel how close Kurt was drawing him. He rested his head on Kurt's shoulder for a moment exhausted by the sensation of all the worry and horror draining away.

In the hotel, they had two adjoining rooms. Burt and Carole took the single room and Finn, Kurt, Peter, and Blaine took the other with the two king beds. They gathered in that room for room service, since none of them had the energy or desire to go to the hotel restaurant. They sat on the beds to eat and Blaine was relieved to see Finn wolfing down food in his normal fashion again. He'd actually taken to picking at his food and saying that he wasn't hungry while Kurt was gone and seeing him eat his usual huge portions was another step back to the world being normal, another sign that Kurt was there and safe among them.

It wasn't long before most of them were exhausted and separated to sleep. Burt and Carole gave Kurt one last hug and Burt tried to thank Peter again, despite Peter's insistence that it was entirely unnecessary.

Finn and Kurt took the one bed and Blaine and his uncle the other. Blaine hadn't realized, until he got into the bed, what kinds of sensations sharing a bed with another would bring. He tried to make himself relax, but nothing logical could keep those old emotions from coming back, as sharply and swiftly as if they were a rubber band that had only been tugged away and suddenly released again. His mind knew better but the rest of him was remembering the pain and humiliation that had always accompanied the nights he spent in a bed with another person.

Blaine silently got up and went to the chair to try to finish the night. He was nearly falling asleep again when he heard a sudden gasp and then a few soft pants coming from the bed Finn and Kurt were sharing. He padded over and in the faint light that was coming through from the street, he could see Kurt's eyes open. In the dim light, they looked all pupil, wide and distressed.

″Dreams?″ Blaine asked, quietly, not expecting any answer other than Kurt's nod. Hesitantly, Blaine put a hand on his shoulder, and then it seemed as though the only possible thing he could do was to get into the bed, putting his arms around Kurt. Kurt seemed to melt into the hold, and Blaine felt his own tense body start to relax, as if he had finally come home.

* * *

When Kurt woke up, his mind needed a few moments to rewind events enough that waking up in a strange bed, cuddling with Blaine made sense. He was still shaken by how close he had been to never seeing his family or Blaine again, how close he had been to the life of a slave, and felt himself shiver a little. Almost as if he were reading Kurt's mind, Blaine, still asleep, rubbed his head against Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt intertwined his fingers with Blaine's, where they rested on his side. They still hadn't talked about exactly what they felt, but it seemed as though it would be just a formality, finding the words that went with the way things had seemed to change without their speaking of it. The quick kiss, brushing each other's lips, before going back to sleep was all the communication they needed to say that they were holding to one another as more than friends.

He turned his head so that he could inhale the smell of Blaine's hair. He closed his eyes, savoring the subtle scent, when it seemed as though a log fell across him.

″Ooof!″

″Wha?″

″Uh?″

Finn had apparently thrown an arm across him and Blaine and the results woke up not only Finn and Blaine but Peter.

″Oh, sorry, guys, I kind of didn't remember you were there. Because I was asleep.″ For Finn in the morning, that was remarkably lucid.

″Well, it worked better than my alarm clock. Oh, wait, I didn't actually set one.″ Kurt tried to snark but it came out muffled when Finn yanked him and Blaine into an uncoordinated tangle of hugging limbs.

″It is so good to have you back,″ Finn grinned.

″So you're celebrating by crushing us to death?″

″Well, yeah, that's my job. Wait...uh, Blaine, you weren't here when I got into bed, were you?″ Finn blinked at him in confusion.

″What, you don't remember?″ Blaine looked at him with big innocent eyes and then relented, his eyes sobering. ″No, Kurt was having a dream, and I heard, and...″ Finn held them both tighter for a moment and Kurt squeezed harder in response.

″I'm going to go get coffee, I assume you all want some?″ Peter's voice was dry but he was smiling as he stood at the foot of their bed, watching them pile together. At the nods and ″yes, please,″ he left.

Kurt knew from long experience that Finn liked being tactful, he simply needed a few hints to get started. ″Finn, why don't you take a shower? Take as long as you like.″

Finn looked ready to say that he was perfectly fine in bed cuddling them both, but before Kurt had to be more direct yet, he figured it out. ″Oh, you two want to have some alone together time. Cool,″ he beamed. Well, he was still working on the being subtle about being tactful.

Kurt turned back to Blaine. ″About us.″

Blaine took Kurt's hand in his and raised it to his cheek. ″There is an 'us,' right?″

Kurt desperately wanted to skip the talking and go right to what the loving gesture said, but he had to be sure. ″I want there to be, if it's what you want, too. And if you're sure. I don't want anything to hurt our friendship and if you aren't positive, I'd rather wait until you are, one way or another.″

″No. I mean, yes, I'm sure.″ Blaine smiled, remembering. ″I fell for you almost immediately. I thought so often about kissing you and what it would feel like, but I never thought that you'd...″

Kurt had truly meant to ask more but the certainty in Blaine's eyes and the fact that he was turning his face for Kurt to kiss him overwhelmed that plan. He could feel Blaine savoring every instant as their lips met and their mouths opened to welcome the other, the way that Blaine's hands pressed so tightly against his back to draw and hold him closer, the feel of his own hands against Blaine's back, no longer bony but firm and healthy, the sound of Peter's startled, ″Oh!″

He and Blaine pulled apart as the meaning of that last sound became clear. Blaine's uncle looked at them with a raised eyebrow and a ″I should have remembered that could happen and knocked. Kurt, later, I want to have the usual words with you.″

He heard Blaine draw a breath and start to say, ″It's...I _love_ Kurt and-″

Peter held up a hand. ″Blaine, I'm not blind or deaf and I'd have to be both not to see that you have feelings for one another. This is just the time-honored tradition.″ Kurt felt his stomach knot; even though Peter handed him a cup of coffee as though nothing at all were happening, he could tell that Peter was more serious than his words let on. Kurt was ready to defend himself and Blaine from any unfair attack but was afraid that this was going to be more than the usual ″break his heart and I will break you″ discussion. Even Blaine's head against his shoulder and their intertwined hands couldn't shake his sudden nerves.

Finn's return helped to lighten the mood and when Burt and Carole knocked a few minutes later, and Kurt went to hug them again, that helped as well. When Peter offered to get them coffee as well and some breakfast, Kurt took the opportunity to offer to help.

In the hallway, Peter led them a few steps away from the door and stopped to face Kurt. ″Kurt, you know that even before his father died, Blaine was like my own son to me. I moved in to help his dad after his mother died when he was just a baby and never left. Since both his father and I had to travel so much, that guaranteed that he always had somebody there for him. I'd been divorced recently and was still licking my wounds and there never was another woman for Philip after Maricris died.″

Kurt nodded. ″Blaine told me some of that.″

″I'm the only one now who really remembers what he was like as a child.″ Peter's eyes were distant. ″He was confident, lively, had every reason to trust the world...he was so sunny and energetic and innocent, he was just like a puppy. We could tell early on that he would grow up to be gay and of course that would make his road more difficult, but that wasn't even on the horizon for him...″

Kurt swallowed hard, as he still did at any reminder of what Blaine had endured, and Peter returned to looking at him. ″I know, that phase never lasts for any child, but the way that it ended for Blaine...Kurt, if you were anybody else, I'd be warning you off now, to tell the truth. But you've experienced enough to understand, at least a little, what happened to him, what he's come through. In a way that even I can't. I can imagine it, God knows, but it's not the same as having lived it.″ He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. ″I don't think I'm getting to the point very well. It's that I love Blaine and I want him to be happy, more than anything. I've seen him purely happy before and the closest that I saw him to that again was when he first saw you again. So I'm on your side as well as his. If you're the one that his heart picked, then you matter to me. I want you to be able to talk to me when there's any trouble of any kind and I want you to know that whatever you need from me is yours.″

Kurt had expected much more of the stern talk about not taking advantage of Blaine, about waiting for sex, and everything else. He'd been ready to say all the usual things about loving Blaine and respecting him, and even to go on the offensive and remind Peter that he was the one who found and saved Blaine. ″I want him to be happy, too. I fell for him almost immediately but I didn't want to say anything. I was even afraid that he might feel obliged. But then when we saw one another again, it all came together. I loved him before I fell in love with him and I know it's the same with him.″

Peter smiled. ″That's always the best way,″ he said easily, and led the rest of the way to the coffee shop, where he ordered enough that the cashier looked shocked, so Kurt piped up that it would hold them until they could get to a restaurant for a _real_ breakfast, just to see his face.

During breakfast, Burt and Carole actually had the audacity to look a little smug and knowing when they noticed Blaine and Kurt holding hands. After they had finished eating, Burt cleared his throat. ″We've got some important decisions to make now. Kurt, you and I can't go back to the US, or to any countries where the Stolen Property Law applies. Your brother and Carole decided that they're going to stick with us.″ Burt stole a glance at Carole and as Kurt looked at them and at Finn, his eyes filled with tears.

″Finn, you're giving up Rachel, your friends, everything...″

Finn looked awkward. ″Yeah, but, I mean, you're _family_.″ Kurt sensed that it was making Finn uncomfortable, so he satisfied himself with a quiet, ″Thank you.″

Peter put a light hand on Blaine's back. ″Blaine doesn't want to leave his new family, either, and even if I had a reason, I'm no better at saying no to him now than I was before, so we'll be around, too.″ If Kurt had needed any more evidence that he was in love with Blaine, he would have had enough in how much the thought that the families might have gone their separate ways seemed like a fist to the gut, even though as soon as the thought had been dismissed as soon as it had risen.  

* * *

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand in his. "So this is a _fairly new_ building." The house that Peter was considering buying dated from the 1890s, while the apartment that they were now renting was from the mid 1700s, a converted tradehouse.

"For Rome, this _is_ fairly new." Peter rested his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "Do you like it?"

Blaine nodded enthusiastically. The building was quite narrow with only three full rooms on each floor, but they'd divide it with a shared large kitchen and dining area on the ground floor, Burt and Carole would have the second floor, Finn and Kurt the third, and Peter and Blaine the fourth. Kurt had first been horrified by the thought of living without closets and Peter had deadpanned that they could put up a clothesrod somewhere, and then laughed and said that when they furnished it, they'd get wardrobes, as people did in these older buildings. Kurt didn't even resent the teasing since it made Blaine laugh. It happened much more often than ever before, but was still new enough that Kurt noticed and cherished each laugh. It was a happy and free sound, another sign that the past was behind them.

His dad had already found a job at a local mechanic's, where he'd get a chance to learn on European cars, and then would start up his own shop again. Kurt wholeheartedly enjoyed being able to shop with Peter's credit cards, knowing that Peter was more than happy to let him do it and that even he wouldn't be able to put a dent in them. Burt, on the other hand, was unhappy at having to live, even temporarily, on somebody else's money, no matter how vehement Peter was that as far as they were concerned, it was family money. He remembered the long debates, Burt stubbornly shaking his head at every argument Peter had made, that he considered it their family money, that Burt had lost his business and savings from his work fighting slavery and that he was in a position to make those losses whole, or that while it was no exchange, it was the least he could do for the family that had saved Blaine. Burt had sat with his arms folded, repeating that he didn't want to take the other man's money. Kurt could understand Burt's pride but Peter's logic, plus the fact that they would have been virtually penniless without help, had swayed him. Carole was the only one who had been able to persuade her husband, by saying that they could take the money as a loan. Kurt had overheard her saying to Finn that some people find it painful to give and that some find it painful to receive, and Burt was definitely one of the latter. She herself didn't mind receiving, as long as she knew that if their roles were reversed, she'd be just as happy to give as much money as they could use to Peter and Blaine. "It can be harder for men, especially ones who are used to being the provider."

"Right, so I'll make an offer." Peter turned to the three boys. "Are you going back to the apartment or are you going to explore the city some more?" Finn wanted to go back and watch the big soccer game, but Kurt and Blaine opted for another walk.

They were going to start Italian classes soon, but in the meantime, they were picking up bits and pieces from books and videos, though with the usual stumbles, including the embarrassing ones. Finn had tried to get the accent right on "calzone grande" but had instead said "cazone grande," asking the grandmotherly lady at the food stand, in the rudest possible slang, for a big penis. Blaine had forgotten the difference between "ano" and "anno," so when a passing priest told him that a building was constructed by a generous donor during the Renaissance, Blaine commented "What an ass," instead of asking "What year?" Kurt had asked how much that "caldo moglie nero" would cost, blushing tremendously when the salesclerk told him that he had asked for a "warm black wife" instead of a "caldo maglione nero," a warm black sweater.

Blaine put his hand in Kurt's as they walked along a narrow little street with high walls on either side of yellowish stone, originally rough but smoothed lightly over time. After a few moments, he pressed closer, entwining their arms, and Kurt squeezed Blaine's against his side. They still hadn't gone further than light kisses and cuddling, and while he had to admit that he was hoping fervently for more, soon, he would never mention his impatience to Blaine. Maybe his own comparatively brief ordeal with slavery had a fortunate side, since he was able to understand, even at a physical level, the revulsion of unwanted sexual contact. Even an overly appraising eye from a stranger in the street could make him feel like a stone fell into his stomach, before he even figured out that it reminded him of the way strangers inspected him at the sale.

Blaine paused and chirruped to a passing cat, who came closer for petting, twining around their legs and arching its back into their hands and stretching out its chin. When Blaine rose from his crouch, the cat protested with a loud, vehement meow that made them both laugh. "Can't try to stop a job before it's done," Blaine chuckled.

"The cat _always_ is the one who decides when petting is done," Kurt agreed, gravely. After a few more minutes, the cat strolled away, not without a glance that suggested that it had done them a great favor. Kurt made a token attempt to brush the cat hair off his pants legs and then pulled out his emergency lint roller, briskly cleaning both of them of what the cat had deigned to shed.

A sign reminded them that they were close to the municipal rose gardens and in an unspoken agreement, they headed in that direction. Since it was mid-afternoon on a weekday, the place had only a few dozen other people strolling along the flowerbeds, mostly older couples. Some of the roses were chosen for their color or shapes rather than their scent, but others seemed to radiate a thick, rich scent, almost too suggestive in the warm air. Blaine buried his face in a dark crimson flower, closing his eyes and sighing as he exhaled. The old scars on his face had already faded into almost pearlescent lines and as much as Kurt hated the sight of anything that had hurt Blaine, they also reminded him of how they had been drawn together at the crucial moment and of Blaine's strength.

When Blaine raised his head again, looking almost dizzied with the powerful smell, Kurt asked, quietly, "Can I kiss you?" Instead of answering, Blaine stepped closer and pressed his lips to Kurt's, then, carefully, shyly, opening his lips and slightly parting Kurt's at the same time. Kurt could barely breathe as Blaine gradually deepened the kiss, each tentative exploration catching at Kurt's heart and senses.

When they finally pulled apart, Kurt felt absolutely overwhelmed. "Wow," he breathed, almost laughing at the inadequacy of the word, or of any words, and Blaine repeated, grinning, "Wow." Somehow it seemed best to walk home after that, entwined and newly confident.

Back at the apartment, Finn was Skyping Rachel, who was assuring him that this wasn't necessarily the end to their epic love affair. "After all, I can always come to study voice in Rome, I could always use a vocal range like Julie Andrews' four octaves, and if I study in Rome at one of the opera theaters this coming summer, I'm sure I could add at least two."

"That'd be great, Rach," he said enthusiastically, although Kurt would have sworn he looked a bit pale at the mention of an opera theater. "Mom and I will have to come back to the United States at least a few times to settle things and ship our stuff here and all that, too."

"Finn, maybe we can get them to work on hologram versions of us,that way you and Kurt could still sing with us at Nationals. Or if they can't get it done quite in time, at least we can have somebody bring a Skype connection so you can see my solos and watch us win. We really don't need to let separation come between us, Finn."

Blaine and Kurt tiptoed into the kitchen and Kurt started a pot of coffee. They could still slightly hear the sound of Rachel's voice, and that, plus the sound of Peter working in the study and Carol muttering to herself as she practiced Italian in the other room, plus knowing Burt would be back soon, enthusiastically describing a new kind of engine that he'd worked on, made it all seem like a home.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Slavery still exists on every continent of our world. The average cost globally is $90USD. If anything in this moves you, please go to freetheslaves dot net (U.S. based organization, four star Charity Navigator rating) or to antislavery dot org (U.K. based).


End file.
